


Vox Populi, Vox Dei

by Last King of Lucis (orinoxvaldan), rsxavior



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Ending, M/M, Noctis flipping a giant bird to Bahamut and the Astrals, You get the idea, canon only different... ... better., god slaying, occasional use of Scourge-goo-as-lube, smut with plot, there's non-con elements but not with Ardyn and Noctis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 153,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orinoxvaldan/pseuds/Last%20King%20of%20Lucis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsxavior/pseuds/rsxavior
Summary: Noctis rejects the revelation of Bahamut and goes to Ardyn in Insomnia alone. He has spent his ten years in crystal stasis growing bitter towards the holy Astrals for what they've put them through, and the idea that he must die for Bahamut's love of symmetry.Ardyn is reluctant, but a new idea is born: If Noctis has been made powerful enough to survive ten years in stasis as well as powerful enough to kill him and erase him from existence-- then what is to stop him from turning on the gods themselves, who are not powerful enough to kill Ardyn alone?Noctis' descent into The World of Ruin with an unholy Oracle at his side begins.





	1. The Dark Covenant

**Author's Note:**

> This is adapted in full from a story co-written by a dear friend who brings Ardyn to life in a way I could only imagine. I've only edited for minor errors and continuity after getting several requests from people to see this long-running thread (almost 70k words in total at this point) turned into a fic for easy reading. 
> 
> I've been struggling with the idea of Noctis so easily bowing his head to the executioner's axe if you will, when a hallmark of Square Enix's stories has always been in balking the yolk of divinity and forging destiny for oneself. Noctis' (and Luna's) compassion towards Ardyn inspired me greatly, and I hope that that comes through in our writing. 
> 
> ~~also it starts with sex so enjoy that and look forward to the 'flashback' for how the hell we got here at some point--~~

Nothing in Noctis’ mind made sense, and his head practically spun. What he wanted and what he didn’t want; what he hated and loathed and wanted to save, wanted to love– had all become a blurred mess in his head. Scrambled thoughts. Scrambled grasps at hope, at possibility– at anything. 

An ugly, ragged snarl tore from is throat, already raw from the mess of noises he’d been making while he writhed as he blindly clawed at the musculature of shoulders usually obscured by so many layers that their true form might be entirely left to the imagination. 

Noctis knew now that he’d have to beg; he’d have to be a trembling mess before Ardyn would give him release– that there was no dignity in this for the king. Some king of light; some holy chosen for the will of the gods he had turned out to be– But wasn’t it a given that he had always loved the night more fondly than the sun and found his solace in the darkness? A bark of mirthless laughter came from him as hands gripped at that mess of iridescent violet; curls like coarse silk that had on their own become enough to make him lose his mind. 

This was sacrilege; this was treason. It was lying with the devil himself; a murderer who had lived his entire life to _take_ from Noctis– and take he did. If he hadn’t come to hate the damnable gods; the Lucii and their guiding force in the crystal, Bahamut, maybe he’d have wound up in different arms rather than falling into his; into the heart of corruption. He hated them– for what they’d done. For what they’d driven Ardyn to; for what they demanded of him. 

“Please–” And he threw his head back, trying to stifle his whimpers and groans. “Please, _please_ –” 

The King of Kings; the King of Light reduced to a simpering, begging wreck beneath the weight of darkness himself. It was almost poetic, if only it didn’t mean that the darkness was like to swallow everything. There had to be another way, he’d told himself. Turned his back on the god who demanded his allegiance. Now found he cared less and less if the darkness never lifted; if they remained two strangely immortal beings locked together in hate and fascination and ugly obsession for eternity. 

Fingers wound tighter into violet curls, and he leaned up, sinking teeth into the warm flesh of Ardyn’s throat with as much threat as there was some twisted kind of affection in it.   
Parts of Ardyn found the prince’s descent into the darkness a beautiful spectacle to behold, but also lamentable. Had not a similar descent happened to his truly? Bittersweet to see the prophecy fail so fully and completely in the faces of the gods. It made him laugh, but it also left him tormented and plagued by the promise of years more of immortality with little end in sight. 

But now the one cure to it all lay beneath him throughly debauched and begging to him _oh so_ sweetly. Bruises lay upon otherwise unmarred flesh courtesy of how roughly this devil liked to treat his partners. He was primal and thoroughly possessive even to the enemy. Was the fallen prince truly such an enemy anymore? The lines blurred, but threats they remained to one another. 

All of those troubles were pushed aside to tend to this lovely creature. He long ago pushed inhibition off a cliff. Sins racked upon sins: what was one more to add to the pyre? Ardyn embraced it just as he embraced the rough touches laid upon the prince’s body, the marks, and look of devastated pleasure.   
A small gasp of breath at the teeth upon his throat followed by a brief, amused chuckle. His hand found its way up from encircling the prince preventing him reaching his plateau to weave between strands of Noct’s hair. Holding the fallen prince against his neck where he wanted him to be. Ardyn growled in pleasure as he moved to bring the fallen price tumbling down with him. 

“You may, your Majesty.” All but snarling the last of the words out with a mix of disdain and lust, Ardyn’s breath ragged in Noct’s ear. 

And how ugly, how twisted this had become– Noctis had never been his own, not from the day he was born. He had existed only for the purpose of being the executioner’s blade– the blade forged from birth to be where he was now, pressed against Ardyn’s throat with primal noises until he was seeing stars. 

And how he had warred with and hated himself for this– He’d given everything only to find that there was no hope for him; that his crystal wouldn’t save him or his people without a hideous blood sacrifice. 

What madness had brought him to fall at Ardyn’s feet was another matter altogether and now this; this coupling that defiled the once all-but-holy halls of the Citadel–   
Now empty, a hollow shell of something that had once been so alive… 

Ardyn’s ability to torment him had reached a fever pitch it seemed, and Noctis had learned to love it; to take it as pleasure instead.   
He gasped and shuddered, limbs winding tighter around the Immortal’s frame as he was finally freed to tumble over the edge– and reached his climax with a keening cry that may have held some iteration of that man’s name; usually something he chose to withhold as though he wished not to give him the satisfaction. 

The pleasure was enough; blinding as it had been in his youth– enough to drown out the misery. Enough to drown out the crushing reality of what he had become– and what he would become. There was only one path left for him now, as he walked alone in Ardyn’s shadow, unsure if his friends could or would forgive his change of heart. 

There was a shocking tenderness in how he came apart, face buried against Ardyn’s throat, soft pants and groans as he rode out those waves and clung to the other as though he were with a lover. _Oh if only_ , or if only Noctis could face the things that had taken root in his chest. 

“Does it work for you too?” He asked, words slurred and voice husky. “Does it drown everything out? Even for– a moment.” 

A new height in the pinnacle of his depravity or so Ardyn told himself. Taking from the prince that had come to represent the hatred and centuries of resentment for the Lucian royals. Yet here he was allowing himself to become afloat in this tide of pleasure and pain. Noctis’ cry pushed a wave of near-satisfaction down his spine or maybe it was how the boy trembled clinging to him, and Ardyn fell with him over that edge. 

His grip on Noctis’ hip was certain to leave crescent shaped marks from nails pressed too deeply. His own cry joining in chorus after the prince. Nowhere as sweet, but every much as lost in this oh so fleeting moment. All of the hate, anguish, and spite living within his being held back by primal desires. 

The harshness of breaths filled the room Ardyn’s hand in raven locks moved in a caressing motion. A brief glimpse at the man the immortal once was hidden behind the twisted pieces of himself. “Perhaps.” The measured tone of voice faltered in the aftermath. “Certain pleasures do allow the mind to wonder.” Something he rarely allowed himself to indulge in, and he had never allowed someone to grow close. 

He was fully aware of his insanity, but unwilling to cease. He is a monster in human form. Ardyn isn’t even certain calling him a man is an accurate term as there is no singular word to define what he has become. Allowing someone to come in into his life as a lover? No. It would expose all the jagged parts of himself and open him up to an eventual loss.   
He clung on to Noctis as he slowly regained faculty of his senses. He doubted either of them truly knew what they were to each other anymore. “Oh my dear, Noct.” The nickname would be endearing if it were not murmured from Ardyn’s lips. A clear mockery of Noctis’ time with his traveling companions when everything was so innocent in comparison.   
“How far you have fallen.” 

Noctis had at least enough lucidity to take some level of satisfaction in the fact that he had brought such sounds bubbling to the surface of Ardyn’s shattered psyche. Hauntingly beautiful in the way macabre and morbid things that Noctis had always loved far more than he should were–   
He did not ask for or seek out gentleness. It had never been what he was looking for in his companions– not back when the Crown City was alive and well and prepared to feed a young prince’s need for privacy and for– _certain vices_ being paid mind to, and not now. What he’s become is simply a more sharpened version of that boy; struggling. In so much pain that he couldn’t think straight. 

Bleary blue eyes revealed themselves slowly, blinking up at Ardyn as he spoke. The low timbre sent chills down his spine, and he had to look away– something of embarrassment or even shame painting his features. 

_“How far you have fallen.”_   
The young king was quiet for a few moments, the strange afterglow dulling his senses though– probably for the better. His mind silently cataloged the bruises and scratches littering his pale skin, like porcelain against the bronzed godlike being still laying over him. Absently, fingers curled again and again through iridescent fuchsia as though the softness of Ardyn’s hair could somehow soothe away the ugly truth of what this was– what they had become. 

“Lucky there was someone low enough to catch me, then.” He said with just as much barely veiled venom. 

"Are you done, or do you want more?” Noctis asked lowly, fingertips slipping deeper into thick curls to dance circles against the nape of Ardyn’s neck.   
Rumbling came from deep within Ardyn’s chest forming a predatory chuckle. 

“Watching your descent was far too entertaining. Why let you fall further when it’s much more amusing to watch you falter?” It was beautiful and ironic within its own right. Even if it left him disappointed of many more centuries of living. Maybe the fallen prince would provide him with enough entertainment yet. _So much for the gods placing trust in mere mortals_. 

“Hmm.” Ardyn leaned back into the touches to his neck; a bit of a weakness of his. He wasn’t going to give Noctis more of a reaction to reinforce that notion. The offer was there for him, still laying bare and prone upon overly intricate sheets preserved only by the immortal’s need for something not covered in dust and filth. The temptation was there.   
Elegant fingers reached out to remove Noctis’ hand from his hair and captured the other. Only for them to be shoved in a position above the fallen king’s head. He held them in place securely with one hand tightly; a warning for Noctis to not move them. 

“Are you certain it’s me that wants more?” 

Lips and teeth delved to a pale neck to return the favor from earlier right along the places he knew Noctis would react to. Careful bites running down the expanse of the other man’s neck until Ardyn reached his collarbone. His free hand left teasing, ghosting touches along pale skin. 

Noctis’ breath caught in his throat when Ardyn moved so suddenly– only to find himself pinned, and momentarily quite helpless. The teeth against his throat; not so much vicious as the monster could be, but with a calculated knowledge of his weak points. The realization was mortifying, but he masked it in his own mind; how amusing that Ardyn would memorize these things so quickly– 

He groaned lowly, back arching as the heat of the immortal’s mouth trailed down, down– Without warning it all ceased. No hand to hold Noctis down. No lips or fingers upon bare flesh. Ardyn had removed himself from lingering over this fallen king in one fluid motion. A smirk of self satisfaction formed on his lips. 

“It’s been a pleasure, your highness.” Left Noctis gulping for air and bemused as he blinked up at him. 

It took his muddled mind a few moments to catch up, of course; quite typical behavior at this point, though it made him nearly roll his eyes. Noctis did not bother trying to cover himself; merely remained where he had been placed, hands resting lightly above his head. 

“You enjoy this too much to walk away.” It was spoken with the deadly calm of someone who knew they were right. 

The cat-and-mouse games seemed to have reached a strange fever pitch, and Noctis’ own mind was fractured; beginning to shatter as he turned his back on the light, feeling only vengeful spite towards the gods who had inflicted this fate on him; a fate that he refused to accept. Ardyn was suffering– he knew this– and Noctis knew a thing or two about that despite being terribly young in comparison. 

“Don’t try to act like… this doesn’t make the mad clattering in your head stop, if just for a moment.” He knew it did; could speak from experience.   
A part of him knew and understood that Ardyn wanted to die. He couldn’t begrudge him that. But first, oh first–   
“Tell me that the gods can be killed. I’ll help you do it.” Even if it was Ardyn’s own hands that had taken the most from him, he wasn’t so short sighted that he couldn’t see clearly that it was the Astrals’ rejection that had driven him to it all. 

Enjoy the game of cat and mouse the pair of them had engaged in? Whatever broken, gnarled relationship they indulged in? What else were they to do? Ardyn was loathed and hated by the world. Noctis had turned his back to the very gods. Ardyn found some gratification in it all, but he would not allow Noctis access to such precious information.   
He loathed and despised the prince’s assumption. If only because the words dug too close to the truth of it. Myriads of daemons scratching at his consciousness held in place by mere willpower alone. Mad he may be, but he would never sacrifice that last inch of the man beneath to them. 

Killing the Astrals such an amusing thought coming from the lips of the King of Light. It was enough to make him laugh, and he did.   
“In a manner of speaking…” Yes, Noctis had fallen far if he was offering his aid to him. 

Unashamed of his state of undress Ardyn faced Noctis with a smirk on his lips that could almost be interrupted as pleased. “Their forms can be slain as you have witnessed, yes? Dormant they will lie, but return they will. Oh how I have attempted.” His hand motioning in a dismissal gesture; voice filled with disappointment.   
Shiva was the first to suffer by his hands. So supportive during his time as the King of Light, but yet even she turned her back on him. Unclean. Undeserving to ascend. Immortal Accursed. 

Fingers hooked under Noctis’ chin barely touching, but just enough pressure to gain the man’s undivided attention. “However…” His index finger made a single stroking motion to the sensitive flesh beneath it. So prone and open. “I would relish in the beautiful irony of your attempts.” The closest Noctis had ever received to cooperation.   
Noctis wondered now how much the gods could really do to him– if everything had relied on this crux; the power of the crystal absorbed into the ring that sat upon his finger now– 

If they alone were not strong enough to defeat Ardyn in any permanence, then how much more powerful did that make him and what he’d become? Something at least as undying as Ardyn, from the looks of things. It had wreaked havoc on his body. He felt like a starved scarecrow next to his younger self and yet– the power he felt coursing through him; limitless. 

Ardyn’s proclamation and the sound of his voice (the only one that he could now find any solace in at all) sank into him slowly as he lounged back upon pillows. From somewhere far below, there was the sound of a monstrous howl that nearly rattled the windows– something big eaten by something bigger, likely. He paid it little mind.   
Noctis should’ve hated him. He had every right to hate him. 

“You’re so resigned… It must’ve been so long. Unimaginable.” Noctis muttered. There was none of that sharp wit in it this time–   
Only a strange softness as he gazed into Ardyn’s golden eyes, unflinching as he gripped his chin. In his heart, he held no illusions. He didn’t think of them as anything more than very, very, very tentative allies or just– men in the same awful boat, though Ardyn had been on the ride for much longer. Perhaps it was his downfall, that he had always been so tender-hearted. 

“Lay with me. Rest.” Noctis continued lowly. “I was chosen to do what you couldn’t. I plan on it– just not the way they wanted me to.” His hand came up and gently brushed against Ardyn’s knuckles. 

_Sympathy?_

The word was foreign in Ardyn’s mind. A piece that no longer seemed to fit within his view of the world. How long had it been since anyone had tried to do anything but cast him aside? The gods had not even raised a finger to aid him after all he had given up and sacrificed. Here he was being offered it, and unsure if he even wanted to take it.   
Noctis was too vulnerable and so easily manipulated. Offering his sympathies and fragile allegiance to the devil himself. 

Bahamut had been so wrong, oh so wrong. Ardyn loved it. He would delight in seeing the knees of the gods crack on the graves they themselves dug. The offer was too tempting, too sweet. If he could not have mutually assured destruction of the Lucian line this was so lovely of an alternative. 

For the most fleeting of moments the jagged, gnarled pieces of the monster fell away to give a bare glimpse of the man that remained. So little of him that there was. It vanished quickly as Ardyn smirked in amusement. “Such lovely words, your highness. Spoken like a true king at last.” 

“Even the gods will bow before our throne.” **Our**. It had many eons ago been a mantle of Ardyn Lucis Caelum. 

He could entertain this fallen King of Kings if it meant getting some of what he desired. He had sold his soul once before; there was nothing left to lose.   
Ardyn returned to the bed choosing now to lay on his back. Though he no longer hovered over Noctis, he pulled him by the shoulders to lay nestled into his side. Fingers keeping a strong grip, but the gesture was not really out of affection. Or maybe it was a mixture of affection and the need to see Noctis stay upon this path. 

The gods and even Ardyn himself it seemed, had banked on Noctis’ rage outweighing his gentle and caring demeanor. Ardyn wanted him to hate him enough to go to any lengths to kill him. The gods simply wanted Ardyn not to interfere– at least from what he could tell. 

Crystal stasis had left Noctis without the consciousness of time passed, but an understanding of many things that his mind seemed to have worked through without him. Luna had known what she was doing. She had made her choice, even if it pained him– even if Ardyn hadn’t done what he had done that day she would have died.   
That was a heavy weight that he had to face; and had learned to carry alone through fitful sleep and his own inward loathing. 

Noctis watched in silence as Ardyn moved, those quiet dulcet tones betraying little though– he was quite aware that something he had done or said had shaken him.   
No matter how hard he tried, Noctis could not think of Ardyn as a monster. 

A soft noise left him as Ardyn pulled him close– and he shifted to rest his cheek against the immortal’s chest, arm draped over him as he settled in– though the grip on his shoulder was a bit rough. He didn’t mind. This was an unholy union at best; though the foundations were laid. Eyes lingered on prone naked form, now somewhat familiar– well loved, one might say for all the marks they’d given each other. 

Our throne, he'd said. And Noctis found he liked the idea if only because he’d never thought he’d be anything but alone when he ascended to it. Noctis had seen the world outside– there was little to save. Even if the dawn came, would it not blast everyone from existence? By now, there was no way that anyone could survive it; that there was anyone who hadn’t come into contact with the pathogen in the air. No; dawn was not the answer, he set that in stone in his heart. 

“You’ve been alone in the darkness for so long…” It came out of his mouth almost unbidden; a thought he had had more than once before. “Not now,” 

_Damn his bleeding heart–_

Bleeding heart indeed. Had Izunia not been so without one maybe Ardyn would not have been driven into such isolation. He too once commanded the love of the people. Love turned against him in the end. Oh how he could have fought, but the betrayal was so complete, so devastating that the fallen healer could not. Instead he allowed himself to be pushed away where the chattering in his mind fueled the vengeance in his heart. 

The people had killed him or tried. Ardyn would sleep for a time before inevitably he was drawn back into his body made whole again. 

Now the darkness did not scare him as it once did when he was mortal. Ardyn found comfort in it. “Darkness without dawn is not so terribly lonesome as you may think.”   
Maybe the people outside could be saved. If only Ardyn had it in him to repeat his actions of the past. Draw the plague back into himself, but the man found he was no longer inclined to. The world could crumble and fall around him so long as he got what he desired. He cared not of their fate. 

But which of the gods to fall first? Ifrit could be so easily lured to his side, but that god was an enemy of their enemies. No, best to keep him alive a while longer. Maybe Shiva or Bahamut; yes that would please him greatly. He hummed in something akin to contentment at the thought alone. The grip on the king of kings loosened to a more comfortable level. 

For the first time in eons he wasn’t alone. A foreign concept to a man whom had gone so long without. “We will bring them to their knees before us.” A mockery they would make of them; making the gods kneel before immortal kings forged by their own hands. 

A promise sealed with the gentle caress of his finger down Noctis’ cheek that ended as it barely brushed over the corner of his lips. 

Noctis knew that this was a dangerous game. He didn’t expect anything that could be considered real affection or gentleness, but he certainly didn’t hate the attention– ah that was what it was, wasn’t it? He had always just been what he was meant to be; been valued for that. It hit him in that moment that he had never been able to choose anything for himself. 

What he had seen and experienced were not for him to choose; but he could make what he wanted of it. 

The prince had come to claim his throne, only to find that it would cost him his life– and the life of the man whose chest he now rested his cheek upon.   
Noctis relaxed considerably when the grip on his shoulder became less predatory, and he was– loathe to admit how sleepy he was. Terribly human, at a time like this.   
He lay pressed against the curve of Ardyn’s side as though he belonged there, and couldn’t help but wonder if there was some satisfaction; did he feel like he got to defile what had been holy to Bahamut– seemingly the chief Astral in power, though they were somehow incapable of– 

At that, Noctis let out a bark of dry laughter, as though he’d only just managed to piece it together. 

“They… they really _**can’t**_ kill you. No matter how hard they try– And now I am the only thing that could become more powerful than… than that–” It was mind boggling. No, with a thrill in his chest he realized that the selfish gods who had tried to rule their fates were no longer the ones with the advantage. 

Noctis’ eyes fell on the ugly, heavy ring on his finger and thought of the power it wielded with a bit of fear– but it would be more than enough, he supposed. 

Even ten years laying dormant in the Astral plane it only now in the covenant of this most unholy of unions that the King of Kings was realizing his full potential. It brought Ardyn a strange sense of satisfaction and delight. Much akin to the first time he realized even the gods could not kill him as he was now. 

No they had to appoint a savior with more power than they possessed built up over ages to even come close to destroying him with such finality. His whole existence would have to be erased to complete such a feat. “Clever Noct. They lack the means to end me. Why else would they need a King of Kings to do that which they could not?” 

The gods had cast light upon the world, but made an even darker, longer shadow in their wake. Delicious irony that they would create the menace of the world and their downfall. Golden eyes shifted to the ring that held the power to destroy not only him, but now the gods themselves. 

“And they will lack the conviction to end their King of Kings.” It was not the ideal Ardyn had dreamt about all these long years, but the end would be just as satisfying. His revenge reimagined through a different avenue he had never thought possible. “We will end their reign of the world.” 

Let Insomnia be the resting place of gods that toyed with mortals. Their toils would begin as soon as they both rested. Their souls immortal, but still bound by mortal-like flesh.   
His head inclined so his cheek rested on raven locks. A force of habit when another warmed his bed. His eyes closed knowing that tonight for the first time since he was mortal that his dreams would be of the most pleasant variety. 

In any other setting, a kiss placed as it was now– over Ardyn’s breastbone– would be terribly soft and affectionate. For Noctis, it seemed almost predatory. If this was how things were to be, then Ardyn would become the sole pillar of–anything– that Noctis had left. 

The implications were tremendous. There would be no going back, and it was likely that his friends would be now counted among enemies. Though… the thought of them seeing the light in this situation was promising. Noctis couldn’t escape the hate, the anger that was boiling inside of him– and it was no longer directed at Ardyn. He had been born and bred to kill the man that he was now curled around, as sleepy as he had been in his youth– bare skin to bare skin. 

At every turn it was as though he were supposed to accept how evil Ardyn was, only to find that he was no different from himself. Did that not say enough on its own? The deposed royal shifted and pulled the covers up around them, burrowed in and remained in that place pressed against the Scourge’s warmth.   
“I always did… prefer being up and about at night,” He said through a yawn. 

If there was a way he’d find it, and if not– then perhaps Bahamut and the Lucii needed to choose more carefully. They had done everything they could to make him subservient and in the home stretch; failed. 

Noctis raised his head again only for a moment, to steal a glimpse of the darkness whose bed he shared. Fingertips moved up to pass through the curls pooled on one shoulder, and the motion alone was enough to nearly soothe him to sleep entirely. 

To lose himself in Ardyn; and to promise vengeance on the gods who thought they set the rules in this world– was all he cared to think about, and all he would as he began to pass into the realm of sleep.


	2. Omen, Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn and Noctis make for the Disc of Cauthess to carry out their unholy task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a good deal of soul searching and alignment tweaking in this chapter. Mostly while in bed.

Without the light of the sun there was little indication of the passage of time. The scourge blocked out all, even the moonlight that reflected the sun. This World of Ruin was bleak as it was dark. Consequences of the gods meddling in mortal affairs. 

Ardyn awakened naturally to a warm body pressed into his side, and the scratching of the creatures just beyond the Citadel. They dare not draw closer to him. They knew and could feel his presence, their creator and their king. 

The memories of hours before came back slowly along with his awareness. The King of Light now promising to deliver the corpses of **dead gods** at his feet. 

He shifted his cheek, ruffling the hair of a man still asleep. Allow him to remain so a while longer to conserve the strength needed for what lie ahead. The effort to disengage himself from Noctis’ side did not require as much effort as he believed. 

Clothes lie discarded over the back of a chair. Ardyn would be damned if they were to be casually thrown about the floor. Everything had to be just _so_ in his appearance. Despite everything the immortal was a vain man. Hair taking little effort to smooth back into a more kept state. Noctis’ obsession with touching it had ruffled it more than usual. 

Now to wake the sleeping beauty upon his bed. A hand placed on a bare shoulder. “Noct.” His voice like velvet trying to coax out his prey. “So _rude_ of you to keep others waiting whilst you slumber away. Haven’t you done enough of that?” 

Sleep was fitful, dreams fleeting and ghost-like. Nothing concrete enough to remember. Snippets of faces and places that he had been, far out of reach now. The King stirred at the feeling of warmth removed from him, but did not wake– only curled in on himself a bit more. 

Ardyn’s gentle shake and his voice, low and warm, were what finally brought him out of his death-like sleep. He groaned, suddenly acutely aware of his soreness; of small wounds dealt to him in a fit of (admittedly strange) passion. He pushed himself up and rubbed at his eyes, seeing that the immortal was already dressed though that wasn’t terribly surprising. To lay with the devil– he had nearly thought that the whole thing was a fever dream. 

Noctis rubbed at his face, at the mess of his hair that was too long for his liking but– why bother with it now?– and then shifted forward to at least get his feet on the ground. 

“Yeah, s’not like it was my **choice**.” He grumped at the velvety accusation. 

If he had had the ability to do so, Noctis likely would’ve told Bahamut to shove it right then and there; but even when tears overflowed at the dread of the fate proclaimed to him, he remained in the crystal– put to sleep.   
He stretched a bit and rolled his kiss-bruised shoulders before moving to dress himself after re-collecting his clothing from where it had ended up scattered. 

“As much as I’d like to go straight for Bahamut– I was thinking, isn’t he the source of the crystal’s power? If we want to use it, he should be saved for last.” Fitting, really. 

But the whole thing turned his stomach. He knew what he was doing. A heretic; he was becoming the very darkness that he had been born to fight and it took a good deal of willpower to stay on that path now. 

A dream it had not been. Ardyn could not forget that sweet moment when the King of Light came to him. Begging. Pleading. So lost to have fallen into his arms. He would savor it as a victory. An insult to the line of blood royal that fought so hard against such a fate for their Chosen King. 

Ardyn chuckled at the mere thought. He watched Noctis dress from his vantage point on the bed. It made such a convenient seat after all. “Very little has been your choice given, nay?” A concept Ardyn could relate to. Had his own descent been born of altruistic intentions or the gears of fate slowly pushing it’s pawn towards the goal? It was so hard to recall anymore. Too many years had passed. Or was it a mixture of both? 

He had been a kind, caring man once. That man died when he took up the name of Izunia. A fault born partly of the gods who discarded him as a useless tool, and the family that betrayed him. 

Bahamut could wait. He would not be easy to reach. “The Crystal contains but a tiny piece of all their power. Bahamut acts as its guard, but killing him so soon? Yes, most unwise.” No. Ardyn had other ideas on whom should meet the end first. 

Eyes gleamed as the thoughts whirled inside of his twisted mind. A test to prove Noctis’ loyalty to the cause and his conviction to follow through. “Shiva.” The edge of his lips upturned slightly into a smile. “She is their messenger.” The most tenderhearted; more importantly to Ardyn the one that had grown closest to Noctis. 

It was she and the Crystal’s guardian that had bestowed upon the immortal his own prophecy. “Without her… those gods will be little more than blind to the fate of the others.” At least for a time and more importantly without that binding force that kept their squabbles at bay. 

He crossed his arms, leaning against the chair in the room. He stopped for a moment as if to only marvel at the lack of dust in the place– though only parts of the Citadel had been clipped by the explosions and falling ships he supposed. In a way, it created an isolated time capsule that was far too eerie for his own liking. In others– he was home. 

Was it not, in some distant past– likely the location of Ardyn’s home too, though whatever palace may have stood there in its time had been converted into the Citadel itself. 

Noctis pursed his lips as he listened, fingertips running absently along his own jawline– he was still a bit of a mess at least to his own standards. Something could be done about that, later. 

“Easy for you to say– Without her, there would be little to stop you and Ifrit from doing as you like with me.” He said slowly. 

Though really– would he still have her allegiance even now? The small shards of their crystals he carried with him were as binding contracts; this he knew. 

It was not for softness. He’d seen enough of her lingering eyes and refusal or inability to interfere when it really mattered. 

“And if we destroy them, what comes then?” The Lucii themselves- including his own father would likely stand between them and their final goal, unless he could now consider them enthrall to his power and that of the ring. An interesting concept he would have to look into. 

Noctis wandered closer, coming to stand directly before Ardyn after a few moments and trying to shake memories of the night before from his mind.   
“–As much as we are enemies of the same enemy– how do I know you’re not just as interested as ever in just watching me hurt and suffer?” Of course, he didn’t. He was going to suffer either way. 

“When have I ever gone against my word?” Ardyn returned. Oh he may have tormented and tortured Noctis and his friends, but every time he offered help he always came through: the Archean, withdrawal of the army from the base, Prompto’s location, and allowing access to the grove. Though his actions were not truly altruistic. Every one would eventually benefit him in some way. No different than what they were both proposing to do now. 

“The Infernian and I only have an alliance of a mutual goal. Nothing for you to be concerned about. In truth I rather despise him like all the rest.” A tenuous, strained relationship at best shared between god and immortal. Ardyn was still after all in some way human if not but in appearance alone. Noctis still desired some sign from him that his aid in the matter wasn’t a farce. No love would be lost if the god of flames and rage was snuffed out. 

Ardyn spared little room between the two of them. “You know you have the means to end my existence.” He drew close leaning down while he drew Noctis’ chin upwards with a single finger. Lips twitching into a teasing smile and so close the Chosen King’s own. “But we both know you no longer have it in you.” The immortal withdrew, affording the other a bit of space. Both men knew Noctis would suffer whether through Ardyn’s further intervention or by virtue of which they were to accomplish.   
The controlling nature in which Ardyn’s body language and movements kept him reeling wasn’t surprising. Noctis had been prepared for much worse when he’d chosen his path; to try to make peace with the madman the Astrals had shunned. They had ended up making something else entirely– and all of it was still new, settling into tired bones. 

The accusation: _you don’t have it in you_ , also settled into his gut with a sort of sickening heaviness. He was probably right. It would’ve been hard for him even if things were different. 

Though what happened after all that was still waters unclear to Ardyn. If indeed the crystal were destroyed in the process then Noctis would have less leverage over him. He could end the Chosen King. Easy prey to his whims, but that also meant Ardyn’s chance to end his curse would cease to be. “What happens after will depend on you.” 

Reaching into the folds of his coat Ardyn sought the single shard he possessed. The others had long since refused to heed his calls. A small thing with the blaze of fire burning eternal within its depths. “A gift.” The only means he had to summon Ifrit to his side. The last remainder of his own forging of the covenants with the gods, and an eerie reminder of the tales of the first king.   
Noctis slowly lifted blue eyes to meet Ardyn’s face, watching as he reached into his coat and produced what he knew from a glance to be an astral shard– vaguely familiar. If he’d taken the time to think on it, he’d remember the rock of Ravatogh and its garish orange and red crystals. 

Little would be lost giving such a trinket to Noctis, but perhaps it would assuage the boy of his trepidation. All Noctis had to do was take it. 

A gift, he said– and a Lucian maxim came to mind: _A gift from an enemy is not a gift_. But– was that what they were anymore? No, they were two beasts of vengeance on the same path. 

He took the crystal in his hand and tightened his grip on it. 

“We… will break the grip of the gods on the fates of men.” Perhaps Ardyn could not become the King of Light as he had originally been meant to be, and perhaps he had done great evil– but now, he could once more help save the people. 

Noctis laid his hand on Ardyn’s arm, thoughtful. – Dared to lean up and steal a peck from the lips hovering close to his own. 

“Shiva and Ifrit still have uses. Why not put the Archean out of his misery first and foremost?” Leviathan still held many terrors for him, and Ramuh was a silent judge and little more. It was as simple as making sure he still had some firepower when turning on that damnable dragon in the end. 

Then, with a dark look of amusement. “We can travel together again– though I’m afraid we might have a rougher time of it this time around.” In the dark, after all– though the daemons themselves posed the two of them little threat. 

_Save the people_? Ardyn could not think of his intentions now ever doing such a thing. He had strayed from that path long ago. The gods and the people of his kingdom had driven that stake into a once tender, caring heart. It had lingered for too long festering inside of him until he allowed the darkness to claim him. This was simply a means to take and savor the sweet fruits of revenge. 

Thoughts fell away as the simple attentions from this recently fallen man before him. The gesture more of sealing a promise than what he perceived as true affections. For once the immortal did not move to fight Noctis. Instead he offered his own gesture in return running his knuckles down the line of other man’s jaw. The Chosen King had his assistance in the matter even if he had to put aside his own hatred of the Lucian line to do it. 

Noctis would not have to rely on his own power solely. Though the King of Light may have slept for a decade did not mean Ardyn was idle. The very air around them helped him to refine his own abilities to a finely sharpened blade. 

“The Archean it is then.” Finally settling on a path with his newfound ally. “My automobile is intact. We may find her of use, and have little fear from the terrors that prowl the night.” Take the fight away from Lucis to the very homes of the gods themselves. Ardyn would rather not destroy the Citadel if he could help it. If only to have some clean place to return to. 

A few supplies he kept around would need to be gathered: curatives, food, essentials. All items Ardyn kept close around the Citadel. The immortal had made this his home for years now. The car kept in one section of the underground not overrun by the daemons. They were not far though. The clattering of claws and garbled noises of the imps that now called Lucis home; kept at bay only because they sensed a monster stronger than they. 

Noctis made the descent to the underground at Ardyn’s side in silence. It wasn’t hard to stay clammed up and shutdown. The place held too many memories– the path they traveled now one that had carried him countless times to the underground carport in Ignis or Nyx’s wake. He could drive, he just preferred the freedom of not having to. Many times he’d wound up at the citadel needing a ride back to his apartment (he wondered if it was still standing or if it had been blasted to nothing) after attempting to meet up with his dad. He was turned away more times than he liked to remember. 

Ten years gone in the blink of an eye for him; he didn’t remember the time that had passed, mostly wrapped up in thoughts of his friends and the small sparks of joy they had found on their journey. Noctis licked his lips, dry– the taste of blood lingering on a split that would heal before he had time to notice it again. 

“After you, your highness.” A mock bow given as the once chancellor held the passenger door open for his guest. 

When they arrived and Ardyn opened the door for him, it wasn’t lost on him that it was with a sense of mockery. He was a fool; a fallen king– they were the same now. Noctis climbed into the passenger’s seat and relaxed, trying not to think about how different the last time he’d done so had been. He missed them; their voices– and they were out there fighting to protect the people from the darkness. If he approached them now, would they listen? 

“I guess there’s no one to stop us. Straight shot out of here to the disc huh?” He muttered to himself as he rested his chin on his hand. 

Noctis did his best not to look at himself in the mirror– he didn’t recognize himself, still. 

The door was closed behind Noctis before Ardyn made his way over to the driver's side. He did not mind such things even if he recalled a time when cars were not even a thought. Chocobos were still the main source of transportation. He had kept one of the beasts in his manor in Gralea, but it was probably long since dead now. 

Mirrors were adjusted to the Immortal’s liking since the roads were barely maintained if at all now. “No one, yes. But the larger, more powerful daemons? They may be foolish enough to try.” Ardyn was not oblivious to the other’s refusal to look into a mirror. The face of boy had grown into the sharper features of someone older with experience that Noctis in a way clearly did not feel, though shoulders were obviously weighed with a burden. 

Ardyn had at least been much older; nearing his mid-thirties when the gods had called him to task. In this way he felt something like pity for the man beside him. “They take much from you with naught to offer in return.” Spoken from experience of things the Immortal had tried to forget. 

The car struggled to start after sitting so long dormant, but eventually turned over into a quiet purr. Knuckles gripped a little too tightly on the steering wheel as Ardyn’s thoughts trailed off to that time in his life: beloved by all with the power to cure the afflicted. He had been offered little in the way of guidance to the gods. Never once told that his path was incorrectly chosen before it was too late. 

“Urged forward with nothing but scant words that hold little meaning. Praises to sing you to the very heavens themselves, but the cost ever more steeply paid.” 

Roads were cracked filled with holes and made the ride impossible to keep smooth, but the Immortal knew the realms of the Daemons in Insomnia. How to avoid the ones that would cause them trouble, but once they crossed the bridge to the mainland he could not make such a guarantee. 

To hear Ardyn of all people, sympathize with his plight shouldn’t have been surprising but it certainly struck him in such a way that it was hard to focus for a moment. They were the same now, weren’t they? It was taking a good deal of effort to come around to that. 

Noctis harbored a great deal of pain in his chest, but he felt that next to Ardyn he had no right to show it– None at all. 

He didn’t expect a smooth ride, and honestly looking from the window was too painful. Seeing Insomnia and knowing that it would never be home; that it would never be what it was ever again– instead, he turned his gaze on Ardyn himself. The connection between them was ugly, likely already a venomous, festering thing– but he had no choice other than to fixate on it. 

Ardyn had walked this path. He had succumbed to the darkness– but he knew that he had to be the one to take his hand and lead him now, or Noctis too would fall; would fail beyond repair. It was a path that they had to take together, regardless of how averted either of them were to working with each other. No– there was something more to all of it, wasn’t there? 

“I never had a choice. From the day… the Crystal chose me.” The Crystal, the Lucii– they were nothing more than Bahamut’s messengers. 

He’d known nothing of the gods themselves, only the powers given to them through them and he supposed that that was rather telling. He closed his eyes, paying no mind to the rough traverse– and he found himself hoping nothing too messy happened to the car; he’d be able to get it fixed, probably but– how to explain that debacle to Cindy and the Hunters at Hammerhead was something he’d rather not consider. 

Never had a choice, no– not even the concept of one. But now _he did_ and he wasn’t about to let that go. Ardyn had once been the embodiment of darkness to him, the evil that had taken everything from him; but now he offered the only hope and guidance he could find. 

Of course Noctis did not have a choice. It was the gods that had decided without his consideration. The same as they had done to Ardyn, but the immortal had some of his years to himself before such a title of ‘Chosen’ was bestowed upon him. A day that stood out in his too long history. Younger, more naive he had been equally honored and frightened by such a duty. 

 

So little of himself Ardyn offered up to others especially of his past so many years ago that his name had been erased from the Lucian line. He felt, however, to keep Noctis from drifting he would need to offer something to the other man; another part did not wish for his story to be completely lost to the ages. “I was but a bit older than you are now when my time came. My path ordained by Bahamut, but power given by the Glacian.”

 

Even before it all Ardyn had an affinity, a talent for magic. The gods had merely helped to amplify his abilities to banish the Scourge. “Though power means little when no directions are freely given.” The gods could have steered him towards the correct course, but they had allowed him to continue down the wrong path. The covenants were gained piece by piece through the trials, and through his travels he had slowly taken the Scourge into himself. The only way he knew how to heal the afflicted; the only way to heal them without killing them in the process. 

 

“I too possessed an Oracle of my own, but she perished during the last of the rites.” Lunafreya would have met a similar fate had the Immortal not ended her life; wasting away and perishing so that the king may ascend. The crystal hungered for more than one sacrifice for its power.

 

The Immortal grew silent after the thought grimacing slightly at such a painful memory. He and Noctis were far too similar. His focus turned to the road as the car sped out of Insomnia and into the darkened plains. He chose his route carefully to avoid Hammerhead cutting through the dirt roadways toward the Coernix Station at Alstor. The drive was long, but it was important to make good on time. 

 

The King visibly winced at that; the mention of his Oracle dying. Had he killed her too? And– it seemed such a strange way of saying it. How did you ‘possess’ another person? Noctis had a haunting feeling that he was soon to find out. He had to admit that there was still so much he didn’t know. Ten years for what? To let his body wither away ( he hadn’t been so thin since he was sick as a child )? To stunt any chance of growth or maturity? Why? _Why_?–

 

Noctis covered his face and rubbed at it, letting out a shudder of breath as they passed through the vast darkness of the scrub lands that slowly morphed into the lush greenery of Duscae. Every now and then, there was a glimpse of something huge– squirming along the roadways. The trip was long, though Noctis found with a bit of terror that honestly he didn’t much notice the passage of time anymore. Either hours– even days – could pass unnoticed or he’d feel them dragging on like eternities all their own. 

 

This must’ve been what it meant to be undying– He had no way of comparison. Noctis had never had a terribly normal relationship to time and life as he knew it, after all. 

 

“I thought that I’d… I’d have my dad to guide me at least part of the way. I thought– I don’t know. I was just. Doing what I was told. Hell, that’s all I ever did, isn’t it?” He remembered vividly how frustrated Prompto had once been with him for not being “over the moon” about his wedding. 

The hours dragged on, and he wondered– would there be any fuel left to make the journey any further? It was likely the tanks attached to the pumps had been emptied long ago by now unless the hunters kept them up and running–Seemed likely, the more he thought of it. 

“– Still not a fan of camping, I take it?” He teased, almost to himself.

A shame that all Noctis got in return then was the devil himself wrapped in a lovely human form instead of a guiding, caring father. Once Ardyn held the support of his brother, but come to find he had not even that at the end either. This new Chosen King had his friends beside him right until the end… not so much anymore. 

 

“Dirty my clothes more than they already are? I dare say not.” Ardyn returned the teasing remark with a non-menacing smirk. “You, after all, are partially to blame for their state.” Two could play at this game, and Ardyn so loved his games. 

 

Fuel was a concern of the Immortal’s as well. The car’s warning light had come on a few miles ago. He knew little of the doings of the world outside Insomnia, but the pumps were relatively intact. The inside of the station wrecked with broken glass and overturned shelving. There were signs though of recent activity as though Hunters had used the broken shelter and the camper nearby as a rest stop. 

 

A small generator outside of the camper looked fairly intact, so Hunters must have kept this place in some state of habitability. Good. It could serve as their stay for the evening. “We will not go further for a time. Make use of it to rest.” Judging by the looks of his companion he would need it. 

 

Luckily for the two of them the pumps still worked. The Immortal took time as the car refueled to survey their surroundings; the Daemons here sparse. He could hear a larger one in the distance. His head turned in the direction calm, but with a slight furrow in his brow; Almost as if Ardyn was trying to decipher its meaning. 

 

There was without a doubt a strong sense of nostalgia to what they were doing– Noctis scavenged in the mess of the overturned shelves– found a few bags of chips and some candy. Ten years certainly hadn’t done much for his pallet– but knowing that there was still such a thing as chocolate in the world was a small comfort. 

 

It was probably a bit comical, Noctis in his nice (if not a bit rumpled and wrinkled) suit and cloak, arms full of dusty snack food and what was probably some sugary energy drink or two– coming towards the camper to the hum of the generator. 

 

It was better than nothing; hell, there was something about it that was almost comical. As if everything had reset only– with a lot less sun and … less company. Noctis still felt sick when he thought about it; about them waiting for his verdict. He’d do this– face the Archean– and then return to tell them the good news. If they failed then… well he wasn’t sure. 

 

It would be good news: that he could free them from the will of the gods. 

 

He shouldered his way into the door, a little loose on its hinges and more than a little dusty inside– and dumped his finds on the table. It was an old rhythm honestly, and one he settled into quickly and easily. He’d done it a thousand times. He would keep his worry and frustration about his friends to himself; he had a feeling Ardyn would have little interest or input on the matter. 

 

Without explaining himself any further, he settled in and rubbed the soot off of a candy wrapper before opening it and popping a few pieces of chocolate into his mouth, legs stretched out from the worn built-in couch. His legs were longer than he remembered, and the ride had taken more out of him than he’d expected– Ardyn was surely even more cramped with how much taller he was. 

 

“Think there’s anything out there still edible, or have the daemons gotten to everything?” He hummed thoughtfully after a few moments. 

 

The car didn’t afford much room for things that they could pack. Ardyn’s choice in automobiles was rather ill suited for anything other than a leisure drive through the countryside, but it was all they had. He had the presence of mind to pack some of his own stores from the Citadel. Nothing fresh since the plant life was nearly non-existent with the eternal night. Jerky and bags of trail mix. Not his favorite, but Ardyn could not choose to be picky. 

 

He had to bow his head to enter the camper with it’s too cramped space. Oh this brought back memories. Noctis was not long in joining him in their dwelling with an armful of food that amounted little more than junk food; a half-smile at this shaking his head. “There is if you are of mind to hunt. Or desire for something more substantial than your offerings.” The implication being the Immortal couldn’t be bothered to run about the countryside hunting for something that was not a daemon.

 

Yet here his companion was with the dietary habits of a teenager. 

 

Despite making light of the other’s choice in food, Ardyn moved closer so that he plucked a piece of candy for himself from the one Noctis held. The Immortal had a little known sweet tooth that he would never openly admit to. His attention turned to his trail mix as though he had not just stolen from the man instead of simply grabbing from the pile. He did not, however, move from being pressed so close to the Chosen King as to invade his personal space. 

 

Ardyn tried to stretch his legs out, but the camper was just too small so he had to settle for crossing them. “I am disinclined to sleep on anything but the singular bed.” The couch could fold out into another sleeping place, but the immortal knew it was far too small for his frame. He had a refusal to sleep on anything as uncouth as the couch. “I may be persuaded to share.” 

 

It may not have been terribly substantial, but Noctis had spent a decade without anything at all. Immortal from the light trapped in his rib cage or not, it had taken an obvious toll on his body– now much thinner than it had ever been. With the mess of his hair, wild and often in his eyes, he resembled something of a darkly handsome scarecrow in need of a shave. 

 

For a moment of silly bliss, he could almost hear Prompto and Gladio laughing– the smell of something lovely cooking not far away– ah, but that was another time. 

 

He was returned to reality by the surprisingly delicate fingers snatching away a piece of his candy– The curious smell of– what was it? Incense? Spiced wood– fire– that hung around Ardyn’s hair invading his senses. The warmth, despite who it came from, was comforting, and Noctis allowed himself after a moment to relax further– leaning against the former Chancellor’s shoulder. 

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Noctis thought– but the day was wasted! But– how was it any different than a day spent in the Regalia doing the same thing? His heart ached quite heavily when left to think on even that for too long, and he turned instead to drown it out with the presence of his… ally. 

 

 _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_. Or perhaps… sordid lover, in this case though there was little outside of pure physicality in that department– Likely it was better that way. 

 

He frowned, quite aware of the rather threadbare state of the thing they were currently sitting on ( similar institutions having suited him and Prompto just fine many times albeit in better states–) 

 

“Persuaded? Don’t tell me you’re going to pretend to be shy now.” Noctis set his jaw, giving Ardyn a scrutinizing look. “You weren’t shy at all, last time I was in your bed.” 

 

Ardyn picked at his food. The trail mix was not exactly the most appetizing thing, but it was better than to dine on nothing but candy and chips. Besides the man leaning against his side was far more interesting. It wasn’t like he didn’t invite Noctis to settle against him being as close as they were. Personal boundaries were not really a _thing_ with the Immortal. 

 

He hummed in agreement. “As I have nothing to be shy about.” Play hard to get? Most definitely. “Though the answer may lie in that I do so love to see you beg.” 

 

He could still remember Noctis coming to him all his own trying to bring his madness to reason. Somehow negotiations had ended up in his bedroom. Not entirely a loss for either party involved. Ardyn did so enjoy attention.

 

Looking at Noctis now with that look in his eyes reminded the immortal of himself, albeit a much younger version. Bitterness and spite had consumed him. The now King of Light was showing signs of that same spite, but spurned towards the gods. It reminded Ardyn of how bitter he was over everything that gods had taken from him. He ultimately chose to descend into his insanity, but he was not unaware of what he had given up to do so. 

 

What had the man before him have left to cling to? That last shred that would keep him from accepting the madness itself? When Ardyn had everything taken from him that is what he caved into. What now held this Chosen King from it? So worn and thin like the man that came before the monster. 

 

“You would do well to finish your pitiful excuse of a meal, your highness.” Fingers reached over to swipe more of the candy, but this time he placed the piece between Noctis’ lips. He left the king’s side entirely to divest himself of his coat for the evening. 

 

“What are you in a hurry for–” It was a playful question, but the thought froze in his throat as a piece of chocolate was pressed to his lips. 

 

Noctis had never allowed such patronizing actions, even as a child. It was a matter of giving up control; something he was loathe to do even in the bedroom. A slow breath passed his lips and he gave in, parting his lips to take the treat offered with his teeth. 

 

Ardyn was… feeding him? He knew that on some level there would always be a part of Ardyn that hated him. A part of him that only wanted this alliance, this strange connection between them because it was another way to take from the gods. He could accept that; even began to understand it a bit. 

 

He sighed and shifted as Ardyn pulled away and slipped out of his coat. Sometimes Noctis forgot that it wasn’t permanently attached; it made such an impact on his presence. There was something oddly disarming about seeing him without it, in just the fitted vest and shirt with all of their decorations. He somehow… appeared younger. Quite the illusion. 

 

A few moments later and he finally found his faculties, speaking up slowly. “After we rest, I’ll go hunt us something worth eating. –Fish, maybe?” He wasn’t nearly as good of a cook as Ignis but he could do fish.  
 

With a huff, Noctis opened a bottle of water he’d found in the mess inside the station and sipped at it before slowly wriggling out of his shoes. Then came his cape, unclasped and left with the heavy pauldron on the table. 

 

“You said you could be persuaded to share the bed…” He left it hanging in the air, the question obvious. What did he expect in return? 

 

The idea of having something fresh and not preserved merely to keep longer held promise for Ardyn. He did not like the idea of sending Noctis by himself to do such a task. He could not truly explain such a rationale when clearly the other had the power to defend himself. The immortal could easily busy himself with other tasks.

 

“I will accompany you.” It was in his best interests as it always had been to keep the Chosen King alive and mostly whole until a mutually assured destruction. “We would not wish for you to become lost in the dark.” He teased. 

 

The coat found its way onto a hanger before Ardyn staked his claim on the bed to remove his boots and their covers. The drive had left him a bit stiff. A con of leaving the world in ruins; there were none willing to fly you to your destinations anymore. If the airships even worked at all after ten, long years or dormancy. 

 

Now the two of them were stuck in this camper with little to occupy their time than each other’s company. When had Ardyn last taken in someone to follow along side him? He acted with his own agency for hundreds of years. The immortal loathed Noctis most of all for something many would consider petty. For all of the bad blood between them words spoken by him rang so horribly clear and true. 

 

_You enjoy this too much to walk away._

 

In more varied and complex ways than the Chosen King would **ever** know. 

Lips formed a teasing smirk upon Ardyn’s sun kissed face. “You could so graciously offer to me what you freely gave to me in my room. If you would rather not, the couch will find you suitable company.” He could asked for so much more, so much worse. But deep down he craved that those precious blissful moments where the scratching and chattering in his mind silenced. A promise that only presently Noctis could deliver upon. Who else would be mad enough to come that close to him? 

 

The King took another drink from the water bottle before sitting it aside almost delicately on the table surface. Noctis had watched Ardyn so delicately put his coat up away from the dusty interior though– really it could’ve been in much worse shape. He licked his lips slowly, a pause that came with consideration; wondering if he should act on impulse as he so often did or not.  

 

So, either let him fuck him or sleep on the couch? Seemed like an Ardyn-type of ultimatum. 

When he was a young prince in Insomnia such things had come easy to him; offering his body was an escape– a way to silence the sounds of the Astrals muttering, a way to distract from and alleviate the pain of his destiny for a moment in time. 

 

Now it seemed that he’d become so used to not being able to address those once impulsive feelings that he’d iced over quite a bit. Rather than being coped with, they were pushed below the surface to drown slowly, sometimes to fester. 

 

Noctis wondered if such interactions held a similar release for Ardyn. 

 

He brought himself to his feet, slowly– and flipped off the light in the main part of the caravan. He was not a fan of having garish artificial light on him in moments like this– 

All that remained was the dim ‘nightlight’ for the area that counted as a bedroom as he slowly made his way towards the bed itself. A brief flash of his mind fighting him– Screaming at him that this was the enemy, though he’d already laid with him before– and as he silenced it realization dawned on him; there was a dark kind of hope lingering. Even if they failed and the gods continued to fight against them (though how could they with Noctis ending their hopes) then they could at least drown eternity’s misery in each other. Carnal pursuits could do wonders for an ailing mind. 

 

Noctis’ expression remained cool and passive as he sank down onto the edge of the mattress on his knees, leaning forward to place his hand squarely in the middle of Ardyn’s chest. 

 

“There are a lot of ways to forget. To stop feeling.” He said lowly. Noctis refused to give him the satisfaction of thinking this was just about control. Noctis knew how alike they really were and wouldn’t let him forget it. 

 

“I’m good at it. I can make it last all night, when I want to.” He continued, matter-of-fact in his delivery. 

And it wasn’t a lie– he’d learned tricks, little things to draw out encounters. The longer he could make it last, the less he had to think; the more solid the sleep he’d fall into after. Quite practical when you thought about it. 

 

There. That knowledge that Noctis knew exactly the intentions. Ardyn loathed it at the same time he was fascinated by it. This man knew; both a thorn in his side and some strange sense of an emotion the fallen man couldn’t give a name to. He saw their similarities, and at the same time did not wish to see them. It would draw to the surface so many things Ardyn did not wish to confront. 

 

He knew what lie beneath that surface. He did not like it. It brought up more bitterness than even his nearly infinite amounts of self-control could repress. Bitterness not geared towards the Lucian line or even the gods. Spite turned against himself in the realization of the man he once was and the one he had allowed himself to become. 

 

The immortal fell back to that which he knew and could deal with. The hand may have been there to keep his attention and a sort of tameness, but Ardyn was not meek. He knew what he desired out of this like most of his pursuits. What Noctis promised was at the same time appealing. Drawing out those moments of silence where thoughts scattered. Was it not what they both got out of this? Peace on their terms. 

 

Ardyn placed his hand over the other immortal’s shoulder tracing its outline upwards to tangle his fingers into raven hair. He could chose to be the gentle lover when the mood suited him, but he didn’t think that was what either of them wanted. 

“Let’s have it then.” His tone was low near threatening, but clear his intentions were nothing more than to pursue this carnal desire between them. The hand that stood between them he used as leverage, grasping it by the wrist as to push the barrier away giving him leave to draw closer to Noctis. 

“Or do you make promises you cannot keep?” Lips fell to his companion’s neck kissing with an application of a light press of his teeth against flesh. The other hand fell to a slender thigh, caressing. A challenge issued to urge Noctis forward into this. 

 

Noctis supposed he shouldn’t be surprised at the inherent violence in Ardyn’s tone and even his touch. It was what he had become; everything he had wound up being despite what he was born to be. Noctis’ heart ached, though his heart was not what this was about. The beast’s teeth to his throat, he shuddered slightly and allowed him to crane his head back with that hand twisted in his hair– no resistance. 

 

“I’m nothing if not a man of my word,” To be anything else would’ve been a disgrace to his legacy. 

 

It wasn’t easy peeling back the layers in his mind; the years they had silently coalesced into frigidity. It took him a few long moments to warm up to it all; the warmth of another body– the way that Ardyn had taunted him before too,  all helping to cast off any inhibitions. 

 

Rather than give in to Ardyn’s domineering nature, he blindly reached for the metal clasps on his vest, free hand greedy for what he knew was beneath. Fingertips ran roughly over the Immortal’s chest, only the silken white shirt and its intricate stitching serving as a barrier; somehow almost more scintillating than without. 

 

“Go on, I can take it.” Noctis purred lowly. 

 

He hated this; he hated that he was giving into his whims so easily and yet– there as a dark kind of satisfaction that made him want to laugh out loud. How much had Ardyn ever dreamed of defiling his family’s blood? How much had he longed for new ways to do it– 

 

“I want to feel you hate me.” Wanted it to burn into his skin like the god-awful ring’s power did. 

 

Ardyn would have to make work of his clothes on his own if he wanted to; Noctis purposefully offered no assistance in the matter. 

 

_Go on, I can take it._

 

Ardyn knew he could. He smirked against the flesh underneath his lips. Marks from the previous encounter bore testament to this. His hands removed themselves to shrug off the vest Noctis had so helpfully undone. One returned to holding the Chosen King exactly where Ardyn desired. The other slid the jacket dusty and wrinkled from once proud shoulders. 

 

This submission to darkest whims and how Noctis so readily fell into his arms was intoxicating. In some ways it proved that the gods had chosen poorly, but here they were two immortals planning to fell the very beings that sought to use them as pawns in a larger game. Their physical desires to one another just a way to defile that sacred rite given to them, and a way to release them from the ever present voices inside however briefly. 

 

A twisted solace that could only be found in surrendering to those baser needs. Two creatures bound by the shared fate bestowed upon them. 

 

Buttons gave way under the former Chancellor’s fingers revealing pale skin hidden beneath Lucian black. Noctis still bore marks that Ardyn now wished to add to. Golden eyes surveyed the claims he had mapped before pushing his companion down onto the bed. A repeat of their prior encounter cut short as the immortal pinned the man beneath him down holding wrists above his head. 

 

“Just look at you now.” Words punctuated by bruising kisses trailed down newly revealed flesh. “Crawling down to the depths they sought so hard to keep you from.” He paused in his creation of new marks to look up at Noctis with lips curled. It would be sincere if not for the look in his eyes. “Such a pleasurable sight, Noct.” Lips and teeth descended upon sensitive flesh upon his companion’s chest. Teasing until it neared that edge of pain and pleasure only softened by the free hand caressing and ghosting over a still clothed thigh. 

 

Ardyn would undo him; tear him down until there was no dignity left. 

 

There was such velvet in Ardyn’s voice as he made quick work of the buttons that held shut royal silk. He could feel those golden eyes digging into him, roving over all of the bruises that Ardyn had left on him the night before. At first the only sound he would allow was the low growl in his throat at the feeling of teeth against his skin. 

 

The old mattress, hardly suited for daily wear and tear, creaked slightly under the shift of his weight, and though he was a bit irritated that he hadn’t even had a chance to really fight for a better position well– he knew that he was more or less at Ardyn’s mercy. The cold fact of the matter settled in– why was he fighting it so much?

 

When he was younger, all he wanted was to give up the iron grip of control he had had to have so constantly, and he’d give it up to strangers just to feel free. Now, Ardyn was offering him that on a silver platter. Now it was Ardyn holding his wrists tightly so he couldn’t do more than squirm– and he had to face the facts of it. 

 

Finally, he relinquished that desire to fight, and in a moment’s breath accepted his desire. 

 

“You love it, don’t you? Defiling what the Six consider holy.” 

 

And he did too, though he hadn’t entirely come into it just yet. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he wanted that deliverance. 

 

Noctis arched up against Ardyn’s weight, fingers flexing under the surprising strength of his grip, he made a single demand; spoken like a king:

 

“Ruin me until they can’t stand to call me theirs anymore,” And he leaned up to press their lips together roughly as best as he could with the limited range of motion allowed to him. His hips accentuated the action, pressing against Ardyn’s thigh in search of friction rather shamelessly. 

 

Did he love taking, defiling, and claiming something from the gods? Nothing brought Ardyn greater pleasure. The pupils of his eyes expanded at such a declaration that left him feeling the pull of his lust and desire ever more keenly. A moan escaped from inside him at such sinful words then silenced by this demanding king beneath him.

 

He inched his thigh forward even if it would offer little relief for the fires now burning inside of them. Lips retreated and found Ardyn staring directly in the eyes of such a bossy lover. The ‘L’ word did not quite fit, but for now he would apply it to whatever this was here and now with none of the tender connotations. “No longer will they call you Chosen when I am through.” A promise. A threat. 

 

Sealed by the creation of another ugly mark on Noctis’ neck that in the past drew such lovely reactions out of him. He would not be able to hide it. Every time Noctis saw his face in the mirror he would be reminded of this moment; arched against the devil himself and craving more. He pressed the captured wrists further into the bed almost a command before releasing them to grip at ruffled hair forcing his companion into a better angle. 

 

The voices and the scratching started to fade into near nothing as he focused on the demand given. The hand that once teased at the Chosen’s thighs moved with more purpose upwards gripping hard flesh through its still clothed prison. A factor he began to remedy in short order by unfastening and shifting fabric. 

A low rumble of a moan left Noctis at the lips on his skin, biting and sucking to leave more dark marks– and then a hand gripping him, leaving him gasping and arching into the pressure as he threw his head back. Shameless, he rolled his hips up against Ardyn’s hand and easily lifted his hips when he tugged to peel away his pants. 

In another life, Noctis would have cursed and raged against the idea of being marked anywhere visible– but who was there left in this world to judge but the gods themselves? His friends would have to wait a little longer– just until he could prove that the scourge of the Astrals could truly be removed. 

With the mark to his liking the Accursed moved so both hands could finish the task of leaving the would-be king bare before him. In this moment with the predatory smile on his features, Ardyn desired Noctis more than anything. Already so beautifully damaged and wishing to be made more so. In a manner uncharacteristically tender given their twisted relationship, his fingers ghosted over the outline of hips. “You will be dragged down to the very abyss with me, your highness.” 

 

Finally, Noctis began to find his way back to the mindset of his youth; being able to forget all duty and responsibility for the sake of enjoying a small spot of blissful blankness provided by pleasure. True bliss indeed, now available to him only at Ardyn’s mercy. 

 

In the moment that his hands found his hips; terribly gentle after all the biting, the   
bruising– claiming– time stood still, a breath hanging tremulous on Noctis’ lips. 

 

Dusky blue eyes stared up unwavering, though in another time he may have been embarrassed even in this low light beneath that amber gaze. The promise of what Ardyn would do to him was enough to cast off any inhibitions left over. 

 

Greedy, his hands finally free– he reached up into the thick curls that framed the former chancellor’s face and passed his fingers through it rather gently, as though to return the softness from before. In the weakness of his current state, a soft, breathless statement fell from his parted lips. 

 

“I’ll give you anything you want.” _Just make it stop– for a little while–_  

 

And he knew Ardyn understood that in a way that no one else ever had. 

 

Nails scraped lightly over fabric, down to the hem of his silken shirt and back up before he rather cheekily unfastened the scarf that he wore tied round his neck and let it fall so that the almost sheer fabric draped itself over his own shoulders instead.

 

Eyes fluttered closed briefly in a soft release of breath at the feeling of fingers teasing through his hair. An action he had always found pleasure in when given to him by those whom shared his bed. It gave the sweet illusion of a gentle man underneath all the layers of the coldhearted monster. Made ever so sweeter by the admission of Noctis. He would graciously take as he pleased from the other, and barely did he release his own husky moan at it. 

 

The scarf stolen from him was folded more securely on his partner deciding it was a good look, but also an even greater tool. He tugged onto the ends to force Noctis into pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. “Then give all of what gods wished of you up to me.” 

 

Releasing the delicate fabric, Ardyn latched fingers underneath his silk shirt, removing it to uncover the scratches and declarations left on him. He bore no shame in this; only the confidence of a man with too many life experiences. His vices were just that: his vices. Amber eyes only held a threatening lust in them before he shoved the Chosen King onto his back once more. He would have him come undone at the seams before he thoroughly and completely claimed him. 

Noctis was reluctant to think about anything in regards to Ardyn as something he loved, but he had found a quick fondness for those thick, almost iridescent waves and curls. They were stunning to look at, and he found that only then could he really admit the deep attraction he felt towards this man. Frustrating. 

Noctis' legs were pushed apart so presses of teeth soothed by kisses could be laid upon soft thighs. Evidence of where he had been for later. Teasing around where the king so badly needed him to touch if only to fulfill his own desires to see him squirm. Even now he held a small drop of self-control knowing this delay would only make the end reward so much sweeter for him. 

Finally, Noctis offered something he had not dared before, save for in little garbled increments– The name, spoken lowly and with reverence.

 

“Ardyn,” A shuddered moan that became a low whine as lips and teeth caressed his thighs, leaving dark bruises in their wake. 

 

It was almost embarrassing, the way his hips jerked– desperate for more. The tension had begun to build until it was nearly painful, throbbing and aching– and those eyes swung up to catch his own icy ones. They were stunning in this low light, hardly the garish golden they could threaten to be– made something warm and honey like by the dark atmosphere and pupils blown wide with want. 

Ardyn blew heated breath over the hardened flesh laid upon the other man’s hip watching him with half-lidded lust filled amber before finally taking his demon of desire into his mouth.

“O-oh–” There would be no crying out to the gods here, not in this place. No– the only gods left were in the names of each other, in the wanton gasps and moans as he writhed. 

Noctis’ fingers found that lion’s mane again, fingers tight in fuchsia curls as he resisted the urge to thrust blindly into the heat of that mouth; the slickness of that damned silver tongue. His nails scraped lightly against the older immortal’s scalp, cradling his head in a manner that was almost tender

Noctis found a good deal of satisfaction in the occasional soft moan from Ardyn– damn that voice of his, it was unfair, honestly. Noctis wanted to steal that mouth a little longer. The reality of this all was beginning to at least to some point settle in. Ardyn would be his eternal companion; they would be the kings of this world of darkness. They chose to deny the gods their end, and so it would have to be together– yes, together– why not like this? Proud kings ruling side by side. It was surprisingly easy to twist his own mind to make the awful task ahead easier.   
. 

“Feels– s-so good,” The words were strangled and breathy, but he knew that Ardyn was the type to relish praise and would use that to his advantage. 

 

The Immortal found he rather liked his own name upon the tongue of the other man. He would love hearing the utterance more often. An acknowledgement from this King of Kings of whom exactly held him. 

 

Ardyn cursed himself for letting the weakness of his be known. Unsure if Noctis was exploiting it on purpose or if it was just how his companion was. He moaned around the hard flesh in his mouth at the touches to his hair. Then that praise and flattery that fed into his lust so perfectly. 

 

His hand held down hips which trembled in restraint. He watched and gauged reactions to know which ones drew out the sweetest moans and little sounds; repeating them to see the flustered, drowning mess of the king. Before he brought Noctis over that precipice, the Accursed released him, breathing lightly over where his mouth once occupied. 

 

Using the scarf as leverage he pulled until the chosen rose. Ardyn captured a hand bringing it down to the single article of clothing that remained between them; urging Noctis to deal with the obstacle. His companion held in place as the Immortal took the look in the other’s eyes and the heavy breath from his lips. 

Lifted up as though he weighed nothing– that monstrous strength held him up, and he fumbled with the unfastening of buttons, fingers prying at the waistband of Ardyn’s pants as he peeled them away. Noctis didn’t hesitate to plunge forward, aching for release; just one wouldn’t be enough, not this time– 

 

“Noctis.” That colubrine quality dropped from his voice revealing something underneath all the years of spite, but in an instant it was gone. Lips coming together and a tongue pressing insistently until he was allowed entry to claim another piece of this king. And in a way Noctis claimed a piece of Ardyn whose attentions were solely on him. The Daemons inside of him silenced for these few precious moments of peace. 

 

The prince felt his senses invaded all at once, the taste of his own skin on Ardyn’s lips as he wrapped his legs round the Immortal’s angular hips, grinding soft, sensitive skin against the hardness of his desire. A lecherous groan left him, and it was quite clear that he’d lost all sense of embarrassment; that keen thing that made the king seem so childish from time to time. The constant need to correct himself; to appear as what he was not– gone. 

 

Silenced, along with the dreams of the sleeping Astrals that taunted him– louder now than ever as they neared the crater. But for now; nothing. Only the pounding of his heart in his chest and Ardyn. 

 

His name spoken with such abandon had nearly been too much. 

 

Muscles strained and rippled beneath porcelain skin, and he slipped his arms around Ardyn’s shoulders even as he deepened the searching kiss, tongue and teeth brushing against flesh as he moved against him. 

 

 _More_ – oh, he wanted it in ways that he didn’t know how to state. Noctis let his body express it for him, nails dragged along skin and then found their way back into those curls, now quite beloved to him. 

 

Noctis finally broke away for air, growling low in his throat. “I want you so bad,” breath against lips.

 

The Chosen King was learning of his various quirks and kinks that brought him the most pleasure. Ardyn was not sure if he should be concerned. He would settle for allowing it to happen because of the sensations that rippled through him. 

 

Nails on skin ruffling his already messy hair to the frantic desperate attempts of Noctis’ body to seek out his desire drove the Immortal mad. It broke Ardyn somewhere along the way where he moaned in a husky tone as his body responded in kind to the other grinding so wantonly against it. It wasn’t what he imagined when he made his offer, but he long since ceased caring about any complaints. He did not want to admit Noctis was claiming just as much of him as he took from the king of kings. 

 

Words like a primordial snap to Ardyn’s already fractured psyche. He growled in return taking a hold of the hardened desire shared between them. Stroking both in fevered touches as he wrapped an arm around Noctis; fingers digging into his back in a manner that could be considered possessive. He agreed independently that once was not going to be enough for the two of them. Besides he recalled a certain promise from the chosen’s lips. 

 

The hand between them released them both so he could break away briefly to grab a bottle from his coat. It wasn’t the most elegant of solutions, but it wouldn’t harm his partner. As much as he was a sadist this was not the place to show it.

 

“And you shall have as you beg.” His voice long since gone with lust. One hand holding Noctis in his lap while the other prepared him for what was to come.

 

There was a part of him that still struggled with this; with the idea of surrendering to Ardyn in this way. He couldn’t be trusted; even while they had the same goal. This was unlike most people in traditional relationships thought– entirely not about that however. 

 

The low, husky nature of Ardyn’s voice was nearly enough to drive him to the brink– the rough grip of his hand pressing them together causing his eyes to flutter shut for a moment, basking in the sensation. Rough, harsh– all of it was befitting him, honestly and Noctis wanted to drown in it. He was half tempted to ask for more pain; more violence–

 

And then he pulled away, leaving Noctis whimpering, aching for more as he arched against the old comforter beneath him, bottom lip captured between teeth. The arm slipped ‘round him helped him find the focus to right himself and he greedily straddled Ardyn’s lap, his arms slipping around, fingers moving over bronzed skin as though he’d never seen it before. There was more intent this time; less a quick, desperate rut and more a determination to engage in this act; to seek pleasure and release on mutual terms. To quell each others’ demons– though Ardyn’s were a bit more literal than his own. 

 

A wild, maddened grin had fallen onto the young king’s features– he couldn’t hear their voices, even the rumble of the Archean– over his body’s heightened responses. 

 

Noctis did not hold back; he did not shy away from any of it. As Ardyn’s hand moved between his legs, he rested his arms around his shoulders, hid his face in the intoxicating waves of his hair as he began to stretch and prepare him– panted quite purposefully against his ear, nipping at it gently. 

 

There were any number of things he could’ve said to egg him on– instead, Noctis just rolled his hips down, rocking against the intrusion of long, dextrous fingers as his own found their way to giving Ardyn’s hard cock several slow, purposeful strokes as he watched for the reaction he might get. 

 

No need for words; just the challenge in his eyes and that smirk on his lips.

 

Words would not have been as effective as actions against Ardyn’s resolve. They were pretty little things that could lie and cheat. Actions, however, spoke more about the truths, and Ardyn responded in kind. Noctis was a beautiful creature as he fell apart in his lap. His little motions and breaths giving away how he truly felt of their encounter. The former Chancellor reveled in it; that he could bring a king to his knees.

 

The blissful silence it brought in his head was more cathartic than any potion. He could become addicted to it if only it didn’t go with the attachment of another person. _‘I can separate the two.’_ -he told himself. All a purely physical arrangement for their mutual benefit, and a way to cement the deed they planned against those who wronged them. 

 

Those breaths drew him back. Slowly they drove the desire demon out of the immortal, but patience was something he held in vast amounts. —Then the Chosen ground against his fingers and stroked at the desire between his legs. Ardyn snapped completely. 

 

A low growl was the only warning. He pushed Noctis suddenly against the side of the caravan that the bed nestled against. His fingers pulled free to help hold the other king against his new prison. The other busied with lining himself up properly before snapping his hips in one fluid motion against the man who dared to play with fire. Noctis closed his eyes, focused on the sensations washing over him even as his hand worked over the warm, throbbing flesh beneath his fingers. That sudden growl made his darkened eyes pop open, lips parted in a gasp that was almost more of a soft cry of surprise– and he saw stars for a moment as his head snapped back against the wall, hard. 

Lips and teeth latching onto an exposed shoulder as the Immortal gave his companion no room for pause. His movements were rough, claiming. The gods would have nothing to do with this new Chosen King when he was done ruining him. 

 

In the few moments that he actually found himself coherent, Noctis wondered just what the fallen king thought of all this; was it still just another way to hurt him? Another way to gain control over Noctis for his own enjoyment? He supposed that really that didn’t matter. 

 

The king was in that moment, every bit the creature he had been ten years prior, squirming and startled and gulping for air as pain; sudden and unplanned for– wracked his body. It was short lived though, as he held desperately to Ardyn’s shoulders, pale thighs pressed to the slope of his hips as he all but wrapped himself around him. 

The first little cry was soft, hoarse– tried to stifle itself in the back of his throat, but felt it escape, tremulous. His hips arched, pressing in to take as much of Ardyn’s length as he could stand inside of himself, fingernails digging in harshly to the lovely, toned curve of Ardyn’s shoulders. 

And again, a cry left him– uncontrolled, unstifled and so desperate he could hardly believe it came from his own mouth. He knew that what was coming threatened to be a nightmare, but he wanted it– wanted every mark and pain that it would leave on him. 

 

Ardyn was too far gone out of his head to think on whether pushing Noctis against the wall had inflicted too much discomfort. His cries and attempts to pull him closer indicated that it had not mattered. What may have started as a power game to seize control was quickly devolving into the former Chancellor’s vice. He was a domineering, possessive lover at his core being. 

 

The little crescent shaped pinpoints biting into his shoulders he welcomed. Marks had never brought him shame; they were worn with pride. He moaned lowly as his partner wrapped around him clinging to him as they rode this out. Lips left leaving behind a spot reddened and ugly upon pale skin. It was pure impulse that he laid a far gentler kiss onto it. 

 

Pulling back out of his companion’s hold to face him. Blue eyes widened so wonderfully in want. Need. 

“Beautiful hapless king,” Ardyn claimed lips just as he claimed the rest of Noctis’ body. He invaded and prodded into the other Immortal’s mouth until naught was left between them but shared moans and the sounds of their joined bodies. 

 

With such a frenzied pace the immortal knew that neither of them would last long. This time he did not wish to make the king of kings plead with words. He had been given enough of it with his body. Reaching between them he took a hold of his partner’s length stroking him in tandem with the harsh, punishing thrust of his hips. 

 

Even now the Immortal could feel himself nearing that edge. The damn King of Light had learned his buttons and exploited them. Ardyn was amused by it. What it all meant he hadn’t the cohesiveness of thought to figure out. 

 

Their movements were wild; animal– _Deamonic_ in their nature. It was a kind of abandon that Noctis was not sure he had ever known; someone fucking into him as though they waned to devour him, and he saw stars. 

 

There was no hope of keeping himself quiet, a cacophony of ragged cries and gasps as he rutted his hips against Ardyn’s– practically dripping pearly white essence in tandem with his movements, slamming into that spot– There was no way he could hold out much longer, and when that hand gripped him, strokes firm and pointed there was no hope. 

 

He dragged his nails viciously over Ardyn’s skin, lips parted as he climaxed suddenly– unable to hold back, unable to prepare himself for the world snapping to white. Under Ardyn’s hands he was nothing; he fell to pieces and– Everything was blissful emptiness; empty save for those golden eyes that he was becoming addicted to. He could stop the pain for them both. Short reprieves on their journey to the bitter end. 

 

It was as though something dark sprung to life inside of him as they moved together; some awful, monstrous rite that could strip the very light out of someone well– that was of course if only the king of light’s garish inner glow weren’t enough to set anything ablaze at a moment’s notice. Still, he reveled in it; the bloom of darkness buried inside of him, claiming him; corroding the crystal’s light. 

 

Noctis moaned into Ardyn’s mouth, oversensitive and aching but– he wouldn’t stop; no he dare not separate from him now. 

 

“Let me feel you,” He purred against kiss-bruised lips. 

 

The tightening of the body he was completely buried in so sweetly dragged out a moan from the Immortal. He couldn’t find the control to make himself stop thrusting roughly as Noctis fell off the edge; all his doing. The pin drops of blood as skin broke from nails biting too deeply, but Ardyn willed it not to heal though the Daemonic forces wished to. 

 

Moans and cries given so freely against his lips had the fallen king chasing after his own release. With a request given in such a beautiful tone how could he refuse? Arms wrapped around his companion holding him in place as he arched into him one final time. His cry carnal as he found his completion in the man before him still recovering from aftershocks of his own. 

 

Corrupting what the gods had upheld as a savior indeed. 

 

Foreheads were pressed together as the two Immortals fought to catch their breath. Soft pants escaping from the former Chancellor that belayed his contented exhaustion. He made no move to detangle himself if only in a hope to prolong the silence in his head. It was an addiction; simple as that. A rumble erupted from his chest. A laugh. “The gods will have nothing to do with you now.” 

,  
Ardyn leaned back, keeping Noctis’ gaze on him with a well placed grip on his chin. Raven locks fallen out of place, eyes still blown, and the telltale signs of over-sensitivity. Amber eyes admired his handiwork painted across pale flesh where new bruises and marks formed. His stake and claim that defied the very beings that fashioned them as weapons. “All because his highness could not be brought to sleep elsewhere.” 

 

Perhaps it was as simple as the carnal act drowning out their minds with endorphins and adrenaline– but maybe it was something else; something as spiritual as the knowing damnation that Noctis now searched for. As though if he defiled himself enough, the Astrals would no longer want him. 

 

No, it was more than that– bound together in an unholy meeting of light and dark. Later, Noctis would wonder if this had any sort of effect on Ardyn; if the mingling of their very essences didn’t change something in them; a being now filled to the brim with the Crystal’s light, and a being containing the darkness of millennia. 

 

Noctis had shuddered at the low sound that came from Ardyn as he too, reached his climax and reveled in the warmth inside of him. He then released his grip on the man’s shoulders as he pulled back to look down at him, amber eyes dark and hungry still.  
 

The king of light’s chest rose and fell as he tried to slow his breathing, his body still trembling as he rolled hips slowly, languid as he let their connection draw out the waves of pleasure as long as he could stand it. Noctis would’ve hated himself for this once before, but the longer he remained in Ardyn’s company, the more his self loathing redirected it at the gods who had deemed themselves powerful enough to put him in this place. They had done this– and he had reacted as anyone with a heart and soul might. 

 

He gave up trying to hide anything; he’d be lecherous and hungry under Ardyn’s weight all he wanted. 

 

“Ah, yeah– that’s why.” Sure. He’d half expected it, at least enough to be more than willing to lay himself bare. “We both wanted this, Ardyn. No excuses.” He said lowly, the edge in his voice dangerous. 

 

He must have been quite the sight laying there, littered in marks and bruises, his own release like a strand of pearls across the skin of his stomach, hair clinging to his face and shoulders from the sheen of sweat there. 

 

“I know all about it. Maybe not Daemons, but the damned Astral’s voices, muttering in my mind. I know how to make it stop. I told you I could, right?” It was surprising to hear such seduction in Noctis’ voice when he could be so inarticulate– but he had his moments. 

 

He reached up, ran his hand lightly down Ardyn’s chest, to the flat plain of his stomach, teasing in the moment of afterglow– he couldn’t help himself. 

 

Should he be concerned that the King of Light could see right through him? Through all of the painted words and half-truths that made up Ardyn’s manner of speech. Perhaps it would only be Noctis who could see what lay beneath them. Emperor Iedolas had not. The Empire of Niflheim had been blinded to it. He could fool the entirety of a nation, but not this one fellow king. 

 

The corners of his lips twitched. “Would I have made such an offer if it was not to my interests?” A selfish man that lived only for his wants and desires. He had little care for others unless they aligned with his own. Noctis held that advantage for the moment. Ardyn would remain loyal to their shared cause so long as his companion delivered on his promises. 

 

The Astrals’ voices he could no longer hear. His pleas fell upon deaf ears for many years. They had shunned his very existence while the Daemons whispered sweet promises of power. Agency he had been denied, but even they were an annoyance. With both silenced his mind felt calm. Foreign since he could not recall a time when it was. 

“The voices are not so different. One just believes it with righteous purpose.” The Daemons made no such illusions of themselves. Gods on the other hand, demanded until your head split and ached with the sheer force. 

 

“A king that makes good upon words promised, a rarity as scarce as mythril.” Something in Ardyn was changing. He could feel it shifting underneath the surface; an unnameable thing.

 

Muscles in his abdomen twitched under roaming fingers. His body still sensitive, but he did not turn away such gentle affections. He moved, bringing Noctis with him until the other king lay more comfortably beneath him. Ardyn shifted until he could run his tongue over the mess the Chosen had made over his stomach. 

 

“The silence is admittedly blissful.” The Immortal offered as he finished cleaning the last of the drying white from his companion. “Enough for you to come crawling back into my bed.” 

 

Of all the things Noctis could be hypersensitive to, touch was the least miserable. Touch was preferable to the burning of Astrals muttering and demanding– by a long shot. He let out a shuddered breath under the heat of Ardyn’s mouth, the rough sensation of stubble against pale skin causing goosebumps to spread over him in waves. 

 

He couldn’t help but to reach out and push his hand through his hair again– it was almost a compulsion now; as though he could worship something so simple in another human– but were they that anymore? Ardyn was surely not, and it was only a matter of time before he became the same. 

 

A compulsion that Ardyn welcomed. He doubted he would tire of the touches to his mane just as he would not tire in his pursuit to drag Noctis down with him. He leaned into the attention unashamed in the aftermath. The Chosen already knew of this weakness, and he was accepting it was okay to give up this small piece. Only because it brought him something in return. 

 

There was something about this moment that was so very unlike the bare carnal urges before– there was a kind of reverence; two beings now in unholy communion finding the only holy left in one another, perhaps–

 

With defenses down, Noctis could easily let himself admit how beautiful he found Ardyn; a physical thing that he was usually slow to experience. A dangerous sign, that; and he could blame his bleeding heart. How could he not come to care for someone who he had marched up to, fearless, with the hope to save him– somehow– from his own darkness–  
Rather, he’d ended up pulled down and assimilated by it. 

 

He burned with expectation: _they would kill them_. Each and every one of them– even if it burned his body to ashes. He’d return, sustained by the crystal’s light. Already, he had felt what the ring could do– had ugly scars crawling up his arm from it like his father had had on his face; like Nyx Ulric bore on his chest and neck. 

 

Suddenly, a dark laughter bubbled up in his throat. “What is this? What the hell are we doing?” 

The beast in the Accursed was calm for the time being. It gave Noctis a brief respite from his vicious nature; not entirely gone but muted. Lurking if only to rise again when the high fell away entirely. It was needed for their labors just as much as the light of the crystal. Darkness and light to neutralize the gods who played with the world and the fates of men. 

 

Ardyn smirked at the dark laughter: music to his ears. Eyes closed briefly in mirthless laughter of his own shifting to lay on his side beside his companion. Fingers danced over the ugliest mark left on Noctis’ shoulder. The beauty of the King of Kings was not lost on him, especially when he bore evidence of his descent. 

 

He wondered if the other was having second thoughts. He would not allow it. 

 

“Taking back that which was denied to us.” Lives. Ascensions. Promises of a tomorrow. Their futures. “To no longer be tethered to leashes not of our own making.” 

 

As for between them on a personal level? Nothing more than an alliance of convenience. They were two Immortals bound by fate to each other and now to the same goal. Ardyn would not think of it more than that. Anything else would expose him to the very same things that brought him to his knees before. 

 

“Seeking an end,” 

 

That declaration seemed to satisfy him, at least. Noctis fell quiet again as Ardyn settled next to him on his side, lashes fluttering as he basked in the touches offered to his skin. Touches that were deceptively gentle– and Noctis could have in these moments genuinely mistaken Ardyn for a normal man, with a light dancing in his eyes as he looked down at his conquest. 

 

There could be no light in those eyes, though– impossible–

 

He could feel the ache of the bruises on his skin, and inside of him from the wild way they had moved together– and the more he looked at the predatory eyes on him, the more his own hunger and desire to claim him wound deeper inside of him. Ardyn Izunia– no– Ardyn Lucis Caelum had taken so much from him; he would have **him** in return. 

 

His hand in the former King’s hair tightened threateningly though– not more than as though to give a warning. 

 

“Ah, yes– what has been denied us.” He echoed, a hint of mockery in his tone. “And how will I take back what you took from me personally along the way?” 

 

The bitterness was palpable, though he didn’t seem to feel anything negative enough to want to shove Ardyn away. Quite the opposite. He dragged him closer, lips ghosting over his. 

 

“You’ll get your dead god even if it kills me; I just want solace for the holes you ripped in me.” He wanted his father back. He wanted Luna. And he was, with a deadly intent, holding Ardyn responsible. 

 

The tightened grip gave the Immortal pause. Something had shifted in the King of Light. Words bringing back the monster from resting. The beast awakened at another that challenged him in some minor way. Touches far less gentle.; a warning of his own. “A clever king would find his way to make such whims happen.” 

 

Brow furrowed as he wondered what game Noctis played at it until the pieces fell into place. It pleased him greatly to see the Chosen have a thirst for vengeance against him. It was all he could ever dream of and more. To have the the King of Kings fall into darkness with him was just icing on it all. Ardyn did not attempt to escape the hold on his hair. He was far too interested in seeing where this would lead. 

 

“Do take care to remain alive long enough to fell all of the Six.” They both knew that Noctis would. The Crystal would ensure that much. Poetic in a way that the very thing the gods granted him the power of would be the same thing that took them down. 

 

Amber eyes did not waver as they stared into blue so close to them. He watched every flicker of emotion come across his companion’s face. “Then. You can make your attempt at my life. A battle between kings.” 

 

It would kill them both. Both knowing that to kill the darkness the Accursed embodied meant the death of the Chosen as well. 

 

He closed the scant distance between their lips; a promise sealed. Only the slight air of the viciousness in Ardyn as teeth dragged across Noctis’ bottom lip as he pulled away. 

 

This could’ve been a more equal share of power– almost tender, laying side by side like this. A smirk graced Noctis' features at the teeth scraping against his lip, and he sighed, brushing the tip of his nose against Ardyn’s. 

 

“I won’t disappoint. I don’t think I have it left in me to screw up that bad. This is the only option. How romantic– I guess we’ll go together when it’s all over,” He teased again. 

 

How had he gotten to this level? Teasing Ardyn Izunia as though it were nothing… Well, maybe it was. They had to look at each other as equals now, even if it was a bit troublesome. Noctis shifted his grip to caress the fallen one’s jaw with slender fingers, his expression pensive. 

 

“Oh, Ardyn,” He purred, mimicking the sultry tone that the other man had begun to favor when uttering Noctis' name. 

 

It struck him then that he could’ve spent all of eternity in this particular game of cat and mouse. There was no longer any indicator of whether it was day or night, but the tug on his eyelids was rather pronounced at this point– and he ran his fingertips along Ardyn’s side in absent nonsense shapes. 

 

After sleep– it would be time. He’d steeled himself already, had no fear left in him. What did it matter if they failed or succeeded– but oh, if they succeeded– He was more than ready for that. Free them all from this hellish fate; and he’d take anything he wanted along the way. 

 

Noctis kissed him again, slow and languid and certainly with more warmth than was perhaps necessary for their relationship but– that was just fine. He craved the intimacy, let it drown out everything else. 

 

“You’ll get all of the dead gods you want,’ And he certainly didn’t blame him for wanting it at all.

 

To Ardyn it was poetic, not romantic, that the two of them would face the same fate together at the end; a fitting conclusion to the Lucis Caelum line. Two roughened pieces trying to come together despite all the jagged edges to a mutual end game. 

 

Eyes narrowed at the use of his name. The irony was not lost on him. Unsure if he should feel amused or angered by it. The gentle touches to his side throwing the Immortal a bit off balance. How many of the Daemon souls inside him would he give to know what ran through the Chosen’s mind? 

 

Both of them were exhausted and in a contented state of drowsiness after such a rough session with one another. Ardyn felt it in Noctis’ kiss and returned the gesture by pulling the other Immortal close, wrapping blankets around them securely so no warmth would escape. The affections and intimacy shared allowed only to strengthen Noctis’ resolve. 

 

They may hated to admit it, but they both needed the other in his best condition come tomorrow. “Tomorrow the Titan will fall. His screams heard throughout Eos. A warning to the others of their impeding end.” 

 

Ardyn reached out from under the blankets to turn the last remaining light off so they were bathed in the darkness of endless night. “I eagerly await them as your gifts to me.” An arm held Noctis to his chest as they rested together on their sides. A twisted mockery of two lovers. 

 

His dreams were not so pleasant as the night before. The Daemons coming back to life as he dreamed, scratching and clawing at his consciousness until he found himself haunted by the past and his suffering.

 

However, the soft white noise that was Noctis' internal soundscape was a blessed reprieve. He didn’t know how he was meant to sleep with the distant rumbling of the slumbering Archean’s voice so close. Perhaps it was their drug of choice– or something strange in reaction to the myriad Daemons writhing beneath Ardyn’s flesh. He didn’t care what it was, it was enough. 

 

Though he wanted to push back against it all, he settled instead on the fact that twisted though it was; this may be the only gentleness left to him– and they would eventually end each other’s suffering.  

 

As they settled in for the night, he curled against the warmth of Ardyn’s body, becoming now something familiar to him; safe even, despite the violence they so often bore towards each other. His arm slipped around his middle and held him close, mirroring the mimicry of the Immortal’s limbs tangled with his own– his cheek rested easily against the plain of his chest, and the gentle static of nothingness lulled him to sleep. 

 

It was only then that the demon dog’s eyes in his recurring dream were finally familiar– not Pryna’s baby blues, but Ardyn’s burning gold. It had been _him_ he’d chased after all along– right to the painful end that the dream offered him, Luna’s blood on his own hands… as though he were seeing through the Darkness' eyes. 

_Those eyes…_

And he could only assume morning was near as his sleep thinned, left him still and cold as the dead as always– nearly impossible to stir unless with intent behind it. A lightless morning was all there was, but the sleeping monarch was in his heart ready for the task at hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a good deal of actual action in the next section to make up for all of this introspection and exposition.


	3. Titanfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The theory must be tested: The Archean must be felled.

It was becoming a habit now for twice in a row Ardyn woke to himself curled around the Chosen King, limbs entangled and malice forgotten in the need for rest. In his half awake state the immortal did not find himself caring that much. For now they worked for mutual means, and never had he minded his bed partners slumbering beside him. 

But the two of them could little afford to lay around cuddling despite the twisted nature of what they shared. Far too restless was he to think of much else besides the spilling of Archean blood upon the stones, the crack of knees, and cries of a lost god.

“Noctis.” First to rouse his companion. Hand moving from where it lay draped around his waist to push and shake the other man awake. 

The ‘morning’ was slow as the pair of them made themselves more bright and awake. Clothes were taken up. Food eaten. Any supplies they found stashed in the trunk of Ardyn’s car for later use. 

The trip to the Disc was uneventful, but the cries of the slumbering god were more keenly heard. The Daemons in Ardyn’s mind became more vocal the closer they came to the source. It was almost more than the immortal could tolerate, but a much larger prize awaited them. 

Rubble had wound up piled everywhere, forcing Ardyn to park the car at the old gates erected by Niflheim's forces. The fight was likely to be messy and massive. No reason to chance destroying the car when it had use yet. He had a few curatives on him just in case. Doubtful they would be needed, but the healer in him refused to come unprepared. 

Lips spread into a smile bearing the white of his teeth as Ardyn stared up at the crystalline remnants of the meteor and the god he knew lie beneath. His very bones felt the excitement and vindication this would bring him. 

“Prepared to slay yourself a god, your majesty?” 

The Daemons in his mind were louder now. The scratching became more persistent almost to the point of distraction. Dark particles drifted about in the air as always, their essence only serving to strength him. Power to vanquished the first of six that had wronged him and shunned him from fulfilling his original purpose. They had taken much, but the time had arrived to take back. 

“More than you will ever know.” Clipped the Accursed in response. Lips curled into a pleased smile, teeth showing and eyes wide in a manic excitement. A sword materialized not too unlike one borne by Noctis, but the blade stained in the color of the Accursed’s hair. 

Titan arose from his slumber at the summon of the King of Kings, his astral shard's power drawn upon by the mind of the one to whom he was contracted. Its words came garbled in the tongue of the gods, eyes shifting between the two beings before him: the fallen king and the chosen. Voice boomed louder still across the landscape in what could only be anger and confusion. He knew not of what judgement Noctis spoke of; only that the bearer of the Scourge had been brought before him. Why was the King not fulfilling his duty miles away at the Citadel upon the throne? 

There was of course a strong sense of deja vu for Noctis– and a lovely bitter irony that he found he was somewhat fond of. That dark humor that came naturally to him seemed to have settled rather heavily since he had awoken.

As usual, Titan’s words were nothing but a _headache_. 

 

The trembling of the earth that was its way of speaking reached a crescendo. A large hand slow, but powerful dropped down to swat away the Accursed. All of the senseless ancient words--yelling-- directed at both men: One for existing and the other for daring to bring the darkness embodied to his doorstep. 

Memories. Memories of how once Ardyn had to face down Titan for his favor. Not much had changed in how the god fought since. A phase made to keep himself from being hit before a blade flung to strike deep into rock like flesh. If he needed to serve as decoy he would. Ardyn had experienced the sensations of a body that healed far too quickly unlike his companion. If they were to do this, neither could falter. 

Noctis was almost surprised when Ardyn moved first and with no lack of grace– he was lovely to look at as he moved, warping out of the way of the strike aimed at him in a burst of scarlet light. Honestly, he felt as though he should’ve known that Ardyn would have such capabilities but they still came as a shock. He wasted precious moments watching his lovely, deadly dance while Titan’s rage was directed at him, and then returned to the present. 

How exactly to destroy the very essence of a god? Ardyn was not certain of the answer, but if it was weakened enough… the power of darkness in himself and the light inside of Noctis-- could they be enough to not only fell Titan but destroy his very soul? 

While Noctis stood starstruck the immortal wondered if his companion was backing out of this at the last moment. A concern assuaged when Noctis began moving against the colossal god; the Armiger's and the power of their Lucian line proving once again their greatest weapon. 

Noctis waited only a moment more, and then he vaulted into the air and struck viciously at Titan’s throat. 

One blade, then another– tossed with the darkest of intentions and with acidic violence that he wasn’t even aware he was capable of. Another barrage of royal arms sunk a blade into the Titan’s eye and sent him reeling back into the dark, seemingly bottomless pit of a crater he'd reared up out of. 

Noctis could feel his own strength draining quickly, burning through him with the power of the ring– and it was then that he phased forward, through the air with a burst of unnatural white light; a barrage of holy magic that he could feel burning through his own skin, up his arm– 

In retrospect, he likely would’ve made more strategic choices if he hadn’t been so painfully enraged, eyes blazing garish neon light as the power of kings tore through him to destroy the flesh of an immortal. 

_If he had been given the power to destroy Ardyn, what was stopping him from destroying the damnable masters of this world?_

Titan lashed out again and Noctis took the blow– slammed into the cliff face with bone-crushing force that he found all-too-suddenly didn’t matter. His body was now the vessel of light: it could not be destroyed. 

“ **Ardyn**!” He bellowed, struggling to launch himself back into the fray. If only he’d go after his blind side– slit the bastard’s throat– 

 

The excitement as blades buried deep into a crying deity brought forth a manic laugh. Ardyn reveled in his madness during battle. It fueled his movements and rage directed into the fine point of a sword. The Archean’s arms kept busy by the Accursed while the King of Light assaulted its head. His own attacks were more planned and thought out. He was the more experienced of the two at knowing the limits of immortal power confined into mortal form, blasting magic and blade against rock-like skin. 

The crack of bone and rock drew Ardyn’s attention for a moment. Noctis had taken the brunt of a swinging arm of the injured giant. His body would heal. It would hurt, but healing would come fueled by the light that now sustained him. 

Ardyn’s name called forth by the King of Kings. Amber eyes set onto the god knowing exactly where to strike. A strategist by heart that knew when to go after an enemy’s weak points. The blinded side. 

Daemons coiled and writhed beneath his flesh. A fuchsia and black glow as he threw forth his sword into a shoulder more likened to a cliff, then finally a warp strike to embed deep into the throat of a god. 

“Your time ends.” The power he needed to pull metal down and across was great but necessary. The screams of Titan in that moment so loud in his ear told him that the god had been pulled past the point of over-extension of his strength. Ardyn then began to pour darkness: the Scourge itself into a wound that would not be allowed to heal, even for a god.

A blade jerked free in a rain of a god’s blood. He warped down and away from Titan who struck out blindly trying to cover his gaping wound with one massive hand while the other tried to strike the Accursed. It was here in the past that Ardyn would have failed in his attempts, but this time would be different. 

If, that was--the King of Kings could grant his own power to destroy the god in its death throes until not even it’s soul remained. 

“Noctis!”

His head swam from the pain, the gush of blood in his mouth– but Noctis’ power, his strength did not wane even for a moment as it would have before. The sound of Ardyn’s wild laughter made his heart leap– the spray of Astral lifeblood hardly fazing him– in fact, he reveled in it. The king of light pulled for the last of his strength and ignored the pain, flung himself into the fray once more in the wake of a blade and held hiss hand high, bearing the ring of the Lucii. 

The light inside of it burst forth as though the dawn itself had come, and Noctis cried out, red-hot lines etching their ways up his arm and into his neck, onto his face– he could not stop, though, and he knew it. Another volley of pure holy flames; so hot they were white, and Titan’s bellowing became howls of terror, rage– _suffering_. 

Noctis touched down next to Ardyn, trembling under the force of the magic and then, all at once, the field of light burst. In its wake was nothing but iridescent ashes blowing on the wind– and there was only one last thing left. 

From the Armiger’s subspace, Noctis drew forth the Astral shard that had been the mark of their covenant. He held it in his palm and summoned the last of his strength, trembling as he exerted the effort he needed to crush it, white and blue flames of holy incinerating what was left in the blink of a moment. 

He was left panting, crumbling to his knees. Wide eyed– the neon glow flickered and began to fade from his irises as he gasped and drew in rattling breaths. Everything was agony; his flesh burning and healing– trying to all at once– 

But there was one thing, one thing that brought out a wild, wheezing laugh. 

“I don’t hear him,” His hands pressed into the thin soil above stone of the edge of the crater, and he looked over at Ardyn, blood stained smile of a grimace adorning his expression like jewels. 

“His voice is gone.” 

The Accursed kept his distance from that light. It could tear into him all the same as the god-- maybe even taking him along with it before their plans could be completed. Amber eyes did not leave the glorious sight before him for a moment, all the same. Ardyn would etch it into memory for however long left he had to exist. 

The world burst into a white hot light. He made inhuman noises as the Daemons writhed against that which caused them pain. Then it all scattered with only the echoing cries of a god, now dead. Ashes mixed with the tiny black pinprick of the Scourge in the air until Titan was all but a distant memory. 

And Ardyn felt something blossoming from depth with he had not felt in many, many centuries. A spark fleeting and airy that he had forgotten the word for. 

Noctis had delivered onto him the greatest gift one could bestow: the death of a god. Happiness. A manic, twisted happiness that left the immortal for once unsure what to do. Dealing with the aftermath was easier than confronting that damnable feeling in his breast. 

Both of them exhausted and panting from the adrenaline and power exerted. Black ashy mist lifted from Ardyn’s body as the darkness took care of mending the tears in his own flesh. His face had gone ashen from the Daemonic influence, but a sight so rare lay there too. He smiled. Contentment as he looked over the Chosen King. 

“You have made good upon your word. The gods will fear and tremble before us. The silence a sign of our success.” The light had taken much in it’s wake from the bearer. The darkness much softer on Ardyn’s body when compared. 

Wounds would take long to heal upon Noctis. Experience told Ardyn that, but he owed him. Blame it on the strange, light feeling in his being that he decided to offer aid he had not given in many ages. “And soon all of them will be made quiet.” Hands glowed in a warm light not unlike the one given off by Lunafreya’s power. It fought against the very core of what Ardyn was now, but he could still draw it forth. 

There was no Daemonic essence to pull into himself, only a quiet meditation as hands cupped the Chosen’s chin. Immortal eyes falling closed in concentration as he poured pieces of his power into forcing flesh to mend and bones to be made whole. 

Never had he thought that he’d set out to do some fool, blasphemous thing like this. In part, Noctis knew that he was hijacking the crystal’s power. Did not know if their rampage would be stopped short or not if the other Astrals realized what was happening. He hoped that the crystal’s light was simply entirely in the ring now; unable to be affected by any but he, its master.  
   
Even the Lucii likely, were his slaves now. He would have to focus on that in time; try to learn the limits of his power beyond Aeterna and Holy– but for now… this was a beautiful start.  
   
Ragged breathing punctuating his sluggish movements, he looked up at Ardyn as he bent, fingertips cupping his face. The gentleness was welcome, soothing. And then there was light– like Luna’s light. It settled into his skin, sank into his bones and merged with his own light– a solid resonance that sped the mending of his myriad wounds. 

Noctis slowly got to his feet, hands cradling Ardyn’s against his face until he was able to at least mostly hold his own . 

“So it’s true– _healer of the people_ …” He muttered lowly. 

And it was dangerous, so dangerous for Noctis to see this– he couldn’t help but cling to the hope that it sparked in him. There was something inside of Ardyn that wasn’t those Daemons. He believed that now with everything he had. Even like this, with eyes darkened and his skin white as snow– 

They may lack the ability to heal– but now they would free the world of its shackles.   
“Our work’s only beginning.” He said, and found that breathing was a bit easier. 

This was their test, and as it seemed– unless there was some great mystery of the beyond that they could not yet understand– there was indeed plenty of hope for slaying the gods. He savored it, the taste of his own blood in his mouth; the thought of making Bahamut pay for the fate dumped upon him, upon his family; upon Ardyn. Soon– it would all end. 

The power took much from Ardyn. No soul taken of the dark and damned to soothe ruffled feathers of those that already slumbered within. His own healing slowed and halted in the wake of the magic at his fingertips. Stealing from his own to give into the mending of another. Dangerous. A weakness bore out for all to see. Magic drawn from a decayed core of a man that lay beneath. A weak, fragile thing that the darkness consumed and cradled now.

He had not lied about being a healer in a past life. The power still came to him, though unwillingly now. 

Light and warmth faded as the Accursed could tolerate it no longer. His eyes had grown dark, dripping the ooze of the Scourge. He ached as his nature forced back the spell, an inhuman noise breaking from lips like the Daemonic creature he was. Breaths he caught sounding a beast more than man. 

Noctis couldn’t find Ardyn ugly, even as he knew the Daemons inside of him were screaming and howling. The proof of his own light, though hidden and frail– was enough to move Noctis’ heart. He relinquished in that moment, his unwillingness to trust and gave in completely. Perhaps it was because the only warmth he’d ever felt like that before had been Luna’s– and without knowing the near instinctual manner of it all: he was a King in need of an Oracle. 

On principal, Ardyn simply would not be forced to carry his companion back to the car. With the glow gone, the black mist resumed in mending his own pale flesh. It was only in moments of repairing the mortal coil that Ardyn could not hide his nature. Amber eyes giving way to black coals drowning out gold. 

He was also forced to wait for the mist to lessen before he could articulate words Noctis would understand. Slowly the color began to return as black gave way to white in his eyes. 

“A beginning to bring about an end.” The gods they would face would only grow more difficult from here, testing the limits of their shared Immortality. 

Impulse led Ardyn to take a kiss from blood covered lips, not minding the copper taste left behind. It was chaste and brought upon more by the excitement of the moment than any true affection. “The greatest of gifts to be delivered unto the world.” _Unto him_. “But for now we will require rest before our travels take us to the next.” 

The bloody kiss, though brief, rang out on Noctis' skin for moments after– some distant tingle of remembrance. And it brought to mind the strange calm that had come over Ardyn while they’d been in bed together, endorphins and dopamine and adrenaline colluding to silence their demons– both literal and proverbial. It was there; he just had to dig for it, and he would treasure every glimpse. 

Ever thinking two steps ahead, Ardyn stood to his feet, weariness in his bones. “We should put distance between ourselves and this place. I do not doubt one of them will come to investigate.” Voice and tone back to the oily edging on mocking quality usually held. 

They likely had not the energy for tearing down two in a row. Best that they allow the gods their mysteries and squabbles while gathering their strength. 

 

“Yeah, let’s scram.” He agreed, and though tired and a bit weak, had no problem turning to head back the way they’d come. Hopefully, no debris had blocked them in or damaged the car. 

As he moved, he gently rested his hand on Ardyn’s arm through his coat and glanced up at him, noting the faint trails of grey on his face– as though he’d been tear-stained in reverse. The Scourge’s ichor was terrifying, as though it threatened to bleed out of him and swallow the very light– but Ardyn was no longer frightening to him. 

“I’m sure you don’t want to hear it,” He mused as they picked their way through the fallen stones and back to the vehicle, luckily waiting unscratched though a bit dulled, as Titan’s coming had raised quite a bit of dust. “…your light is so warm and gentle.” 

And really in a way, it had only deepened his rage. **They** did this to him. They allowed him to drown in the darkness, and Noctis could not forgive and would never forget. 

 

Both of them were a sight to behold covered in dirt and the blood of a fallen deity. What Ardyn would not do for a bath to wash the grime away, though he found he rather liked the blood upon himself. --A trophy of what had been done in striking a blow against the Six now made Five. 

The grey streaks peppered across his body were hidden by clothing. A sign he was still healing a body, exhausted. It would take a while to subside yet. For all of Ardyn’s faults and manipulative nature he had managed what no other could. He contained myriad Daemons alongside his _soul_ trapped in a body that had not been consumed by them. All turned into weapons and power bent to his will. 

Any other would have been swallowed until the human shell was naught more than memory. The Accursed was not without his suffering. The darkness had corroded and helped to twist his nature. A walking mass of spite and manipulative machinations left as a result, truly sick on the inside. 

Noctis was right. He did not want to hear such statements. He did not push the Chosen away, but he did not move to bring them closer either. “You mistake my magic for a light that no longer exists.” Ardyn would never give rise to thoughts that Ardyn Lucis Caelum still existed. Izunia was all that remained and all that would be. To think otherwise was a foolish endeavor. 

Ardyn pulled away from the gentle touch as they neared the car. “We will find respite near. There we will think on which you deliver me next, your majesty.” 

Of course, Ardyn turned them back to their cause– and away from the foolish feelings that Noctis was building out of scattered bones inside of himself. He didn’t need this but, he had for so long traveled with companions he felt such deep love for that he did not know how to share a bond that was any different. He had to find it in himself to love Ardyn, even if he knew it was going to serve to hurt him later. If he didn’t, he’d never be able to commit to the unholy task they’d set before themselves. 

Weak. He knew that it made him weak– but it simply… was. The damage it left would be mitigated later, and surely at Ardyn’s hands. 

Right. Focus– Finding food was important, even if they were Immortal. It was weird– to think about how little normal human functions didn’t really apply to him anymore. Maybe in a way, he’d been dead for a while though, his body had continued to mature– spurned on by the crystal stasis, most likely. It was all rather troubling to think about, but for the moment it was better to focus on recovery. 

He could feel the odd force of magic still working to heal and stitch together his wounds– he supposed it was a given that he’d get slapped into a wall like that. This godslaying was not going to get easier, either, he knew from experience. 

Noctis all but fell into the passenger seat of the old car, head still spinning a bit and– he nearly apologized for any bloody mess on the upholstery but really, what was the point? He stretched as best he could and kept his breathing even as his body worked to restore itself. He gazed down at the ring on his finger, the blistering on his skin starting to settle into ugly red lines on his skin that would scar– _like Nyx, like his father_ – The ring’s power would mark him. It was an inevitability. Not that it mattered or that anyone could much tell in this blasted darkness.

Another time Ardyn may have commented on the state they were leaving his car, but now there was little choice. It was serving its purpose. So long as it kept running that was all that mattered. Very few vehicles still functioned under the endless night he created. 

“Let’s take some time to relax… before we go at it again,” He suggested. “I could catch us dinner nearby– down at the Slough?” There had been a forest nearby– the chocobo outpost. All surely abandoned and in disrepair by now. 

 

Titan was weak compared to his brothers and sisters. A fact Ardyn knew well first hand. Once the other Five realized the fate that the two kings would grant them, they would fight more viciously. More worrying, likely after preparing for their arrival. 

“The next will not fall so easily. We will rest until you have mended.” Noctis was the most damaged between the two of them. A newly made immortal with little clue of how to deal with those implications. 

Ardyn released a small sigh. “I shall keep my word and accompany you. What little it would do me now to have you slain by hands other than my own.” 

Though drained himself from the fight, the Fallen King found the energy to take them towards where Wiz once lived with his birds. It was one of the likely places that the Hunters would have kept operational to an extent. The sign, fencing, and building were in a process of being reclaimed by nature. Here more Daemons were in the area than the last outpost; not recently occupied then. 

The camper and parts of the original building remained in a shape suited for their needs, a few scattered pinions of yellow about. Signs that maybe a few hearty birds remained, but they did not make themselves known. 

“Caution if you wish to venture out. The Daemons here are less inclined to ignore us.” He could feel them, their companions trapped inside of him growing more restless at their presence. Irritating. If the Daemons made an attempt on their lives it was easily remedied either by sword or the Accursed assimilating more into himself. 

It would be a repeat of the former night in a different location though here they were dangerously close to Fociaugh Hollow. The place with its standing stones all but loomed in his mind though it could not be seen through the thick trees– at least at first he’d thought so. Ten years without sunlight had all but stripped the foliage and Noctis was sure that he could make out the cave’s gaping maw if he squinted up the steep incline long enough. 

Noctis left Ardyn to scavenging and raided what was left of the gift shop to find some extra fishing tackle. Surely even an immortal’s morale could be raised by something like a meal that was simply… not canned. He picked around a bit longer and then returned to find Ardyn near the caravan. 

With his companion busy in the gift shop Ardyn rummaged through the stores left by Hunters. Supplies here were low. Not as frequently visited as he previously surmised. 

Upon circling back to where he'd left Ardy, Noctis tilted his head, brows raised. 

“I’m going to go fishing down by the Slough if I can keep the Daemons off of my back.” He said. 

Noctis… wasn’t the best cook, but he could make basic things as long as he didn’t lose focus and let them burn. There was a definite glimmer of the prince he had once been in his eyes, a sign of the fact that it was a chance to do one of the few things he really enjoyed. 

It was a bit of mood dissonance. They were in the very shadow of the next god they planned on felling, and well– he figured it was a proper time for a bit of night fishing. 

The sleeping place of Ramuh was so near. No doubt that the deity had sensed the death of his brother. Ardyn could no longer hear them to tell of the gods' whereabouts. Only his connection with the Infernian remained, but Noctis held his means of contacting The Fulgurian directly. 

 

There were larger, more powerful Daemons out there beyond the borders of the outpost he could sense. The immortal longed to be in the Citadel stories up and away from them least their noise drive him to another headache. 

He did not allow it to sour his mood. That airy feeling had persisted long after the Titan’s fall. Ardyn was not blind to the man who helped to bring about such a response. He may have hated Noctis... a little less now. The Chosen had stood for all that he despised. The line that had spurred the world against him when little else had remained. This King of Kings had delivered onto him something he never thought possible in his long life. 

Ardyn’s features were a bit pinched in both contemplation and the irritation of the Daemonic chattering when Noctis approached. A few supplies to be dropped off in their temporary residence in the Accursed’s arms. That glimmer in his companion did not go without notice. The prince remained under the surface of a body not yet grown into-- and his bitterness. 

Too much like someone he once knew. 

“You need not travel alone. I will come along.” It would get him out of range of the larger Daemons if luck held. The chattering would quiet to something more bearable. At the very least he could remain a distance away to wash the filth and grime off. 

Going fishing with Ardyn Izunia wasn’t exactly something that Noctis ever thought he’d be doing… Ever, but he figured there were worse things he could think of in his current circumstances. Even as he gathered the last of his supplies and gave the former Chancellor a small smile as he headed off, he could feel the nagging sensation of _something_ watching him.


	4. To Kill with Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two, recovering, are interrupted by a chill on the wind. Noctis' gives into his rage, accepting the darkness blossoming inside of himself.

Noctis knew the feeling was most likely only in his head. Most likely– though there was something familiar about the presence as well, and he wondered if the other Astrals had stirred, begun to cast their nigh-on-omniscient eyes across the Lucian continent in search of what was to blame for their brother’s silence. He could hear and feel Ramuh nearby; familiar but still sleepy, not a direct threat… yet. His power could be much more deadly more quickly than Titan, it would be– 

Ah, but now was not time for that. 

Keeping his eyes open, ears focused, he picked a path around the edge of the Slough– terribly quiet now without the massive Catoblepas’ thundering footsteps nearby. He could only assume that the Daemons had outclassed them; and that the darkness had starved them. 

He only hoped that the creatures of the water had fared better, and upon reaching the end of the old dock set up the battery powered lantern he’d grabbed from the outpost as well as his tackle box and set to spooling his line. 

“Are you much for hobbies like this?” It was just small talk– it was either this or discussing the murder that they were still planning. 

It was dangerous how much he was thinking on it– how much he didn’t hate the idea. Maybe better to stop hiding the fact. Living in denial was doing no good for anyone.

Hiking through wilderness seemed to be at any rate--not what Ardyn considered an idea of fun. Need for a bath and an escape from whatever Daemon stirred the rest within his body drove him to trail behind Noctis through a darkened, dead landscape. A world twisted _all for his companion_. 

Ardyn's clothes were removed with care despite their ruined state: Habits ingrained since his time as a king of Lucis. Wise enough to stay at the beginning of the dock so to not scare his companion’s prey. 

A simple question gave the immortal pause before he removed the last of his garments. He was a closely guarded man by nature, not revealing much about himself until the moment opportune for his benefit. Was it not better to allow the Chosen to know more if only to strengthen this tentative alliance between them? Noctis was craving some normalcy. He knew that. Ardyn was not the wisest of choices to seek such things from. 

“My recreational pursuits lie with the indoor variety.” He slipped into the water, wiping away at dried scarlet and black dotting upon his skin. A task made harder by the lack of proper supplies, but he would make do. “Reading. The pursuit of knowledge.” Water poured over his head to wet violet hair. Rivets of red and black running in droplets from it. “Chess.” A favorite of his since it allowed his strategic mind to stretch out. 

An oddly mundane conversation Ardyn had not participated in for a while. “You must hold more than fishing as yours, Noct? I would be quite disappointed otherwise.” 

Ardyn could feel something strange in the air as well. A sensation he knew, but he could not place a name to, the plains more silent than ever. He kept himself wary for now of what he felt where lingering eyes. The wind more... chilled. 

It was an oddly domestic scene, this; some mockery of a normal life that may have been a star-crossed impossibility at any other time. Noctis hummed to himself, no real tune that he could think of, though it was a melody. After he’d drawn his fishing rod from its hiding place in the subspace of the Armiger and got it set up, he settled at the end of the dock, dangling his feet as he prepared to cast his line. 

Noctis allowed himself to be distracted only here and there, as he listened to Ardyn’s answer– surprisingly amicable. It was.. nice. He wasn’t an unpleasant conversational partner, in all seriousness. 

“There are other things I guess. Most of them are… irrelevant. Escapist in nature. I liked video games quite a bit,” A pause as he felt the line out for a few moments. A soft tug– perhaps a bite? “Music, too. All kinds. I always watched my dad play chess but– I’m probably not very good at it. Maybe I could practice against you,” He offered with a soft chuckle.  

Shortly after, he drew in a little gasp and tugged at the line sharply to set the hook before he began to pull back, reeling in furiously. After a small battle he pulled up a crag barramundi, and then a couple of more– gleefully tossed into his little bucket. He still had it, a knack for this sort of thing.

“Well– regardless of what I’m into or not, we’re going to eat well for a change.” 

And he himself really was questioning what he _was_ into as he found himself distracted; watching Ardyn’s silhouette in the darkness, illuminated only by the warm light of the lantern he’d set up. It was something nearly out of classical art; the stunning beauty, usually hidden beneath layers of robes bare during a moonlit swim. He– rather disliked the idea that he’d started seeing Ardyn in such a light, but– that need for connection, that need to feel something that wasn’t the crush of their existential fate was strong. 

He was so stripped down; seemed terribly human with his vibrant curls dripping, the waves lapping at his skin. Noctis knew he should probably think about getting cleaned up but– maybe later. He didn’t want to disturb this scene; not yet. 

A man seated in the heart of politics during his younger years and more recently of the Empire of Niflheim, Ardyn had trained himself well in holding conversations. “Ah if only we were still in Insomnia I would have taken you up on the offer. I found a board to idle time, but it would not be appropriate to have taken it with.” Most likely it had belonged to King Regis or someone else higher up in the chain of command. 

“I, myself, enjoy the classics. Songs from ages past that few recall to memory.” Ones he had a habit of humming to himself when he was alone and mind scheming. Quite a few from his time as king long forgotten or the meaning construed by time. 

“I will leave you to preparing it,” He could help if he so chose. Blood and the like did not make him squeamish, but his bath would be for naught if he did. Ardyn noted Noctis’ staring and smirked at him in a seductive manner. Nothing more than a teasing notion since his mind was too preoccupied with mortal cleanliness. 

The Immortal felt the chill racing up and down his body before he saw her; Gentiana, the mortal visage of the Glacian goddess. Finger pressed to his lips froze the Accursed in place. Still as a statue covered in ice that flowed out from his body and encrusted the top level of the lake. She gave Ardyn not a look more as she walked with grace down the dock towards the Chosen King. A frown graced her otherwise expressionless face with eyes closed. 

“O’ King of Kings. I might speak with you. I fear I have failed you. To not act as a guiding voice before now.” Shiva knew. Her brother lie dead, gone from the world. Watched she had, this unholy alliance, from the shadows since they arrived at the outpost. Her eyes then opened half lidded in a world covered in eternal night “You seek to make the Fallen an ally. A path that is misguided for he cannot be saved. He will not replace that which was lost.”

She stood feet from Noctis blocking him from the frozen statue she had made of Ardyn. It would not kill him, but merely buy time for her to speak to him alone. “It is not too late. You may yet walk in the path of Astral memory and undo what has been done. Do not let Lady Lunafreya’s labors be in vain for this is not the path she sought for you. I beseech you O Chosen one to see it clearly now.” 

For scant moments, Noctis dared to think that he had found some manner of enjoyment in all of this. Ardyn had only truly managed to destroy her god form at least– that was what his mind was telling him as he tried to twist and make sense of what logic there was to be had in this mess. He gritted his teeth as she approached him, eyes past her on the motionless form of his companion, now quite resembling the statue he had thought his form likened to moments before. 

_This again_. 

He drew in a breath of the chilled air, hoping it would quell his rage and it… did not. 

Ah, yes. Luna. Luna’s sacrifice. 

“You act like… like she wasn’t about to drop dead anyway.” He snapped suddenly, eyes livid with his rage. 

“And what did she sacrifice towards? A pact with my father to lead me gently to the executioner’s block? Not too late for me to die and clean up _your_ mess?” 

At that, he gestured sharply at Ardyn’s frozen form behind her. Wondered if he was suffering– what must it be like to be frozen alive--? 

“What did he do? What did he do aside from **exactly** what you all instructed him to? Healing the people. And you couldn’t even let him die? Couldn’t even let him ascend?” At this point, he was advancing on her, eyes glinting daggers in their neon fluorescence at her presence– 

“Or is it that you’re not strong enough? You’re not? All of you– Even all of you together couldn’t do it.” He ground out savagely. And suddenly he could think of nothing more than rending her condescending head from its shoulders, and to that end drew his father's sword from the air, brandishing it menacingly. 

“The Oracle knows of the sacrifice she must make. Lady Lunafreya had made her peace. The Fallen had hastened her to an end I did not want.” Gentiana truly did not wish to see Luna’s suffering, but it was the way of things. Her brothers and sisters demanded much from the Oracles in service to the prophecy. None of them as loving as she towards humanity. 

She remained ever calm even in the face of such vitriol. The gods had placed their hopes upon the shoulders of Noctis to complete what they could not. “He fell from the path. The corruption is too deep in him. It has latched onto his very soul. Too polluted to ascend least he take the world along with. We were not the ones to deny him rest. He denied himself by taking on the plague from the stars. Would I give him rest if I could.”

The sword brandished gave her pause. Was the Chosen King truly so lost that he would fight for the Accursed that doomed the world to this eternal night? Gentiana liked to think she could still steer him from this path. That there would be time enough to save him from following this dark path in Ardyn’s shadow. 

“He is to be pitied, King of Kings. A tale of caution. Has he not veiled the world into darkness where life struggles to exist? Aiding him will not bring back the dawn.” Ardyn had been lost long ago in the minds of the Astrals. Shiva had tried to save him, but it was far too late. The sickness too long in his body for them to aid. 

Slowly she took a step back, her arms brought up in a clasp of prayer as her mortal visage dispersed into the small form constrained by mortal proportions. Her god form lost to her in the Groves Valley. A cadaver that slumbered but she was unable to return to until more time had passed. 

She didn’t care. Gentiana, Shiva– whoever she was– thought herself justified. 

_An end I did not want._

The shards of truth coalesced like ice in his very chest. Noctis couldn’t think straight– couldn’t believe– A wheeze of a laugh as she began to shift into her inhuman form. 

“You knew. All along– you were just going to watch her wither and die because that’s… normal. That’s just what Oracles do. _ **All hail the Martyr King!.**_ ” He was laughing, shouting all at once as though everything that held him together had shattered in a moment. 

Noctis watched her through the light in his eyes that always shone when an Astral was close, dragging in another ragged breath and then he ceased to hesitate. Damn her– damn them all for treating him and Luna– his father– as lambs to the slaughter. 

With a sharp cry, the first blade vanished and replaced itself with a single kukri followed by another. He had found them in Insomnia, upon his march to face Ardyn alone. Another person whose spark of life had meant nothing to the Astrals and the kings of old, represented in the weapons he had once carried. For them– he’d hunt the gods themselves down one by one. 

If he had thought harder on it, he’d have realized that Ardyn was just as guilty– or at least complacent in their deaths– but Ardyn wouldn’t have been what he was without the Astrals’ meddling. 

A single kukri spun through the air as he tossed it and sank low into the icy goddess’ collar. With a burst of blue, crystalline light– Noctis was on her, the other dagger in hand as he tore into her icy flesh over and over– in a fit of rage unlike anyone had seen from him since the fall of insomnia. The ice crept up his arms, burning, searing his skin and still he did not stop swinging the blade.

The barest of frowns marred Shiva’s otherwise unearthly beauty. She had failed the King of Kings. The words of the Accursed and Noctis’ own insecurities had poisoned his mind far beyond that which could be healed. What she hated was that she could not put him down. She lacked the strength as all the Six did to end his existence just as they had failed with Ardyn. 

Fear. Never before had the Glacian felt fear, but she did now as the blade sunk into her collar, silencing any further words to soothe the soul of one so angry and bitter. Had they failed a second time and created another immortal like Ardyn? This one though, was filled with the light of the crystal rather than the Darkness Itself. 

Weakened she was by the lack of her true form. A death of it caused by the very same blighted man that Noctis now followed; had allowed himself to find comfort in the whispers of his darkest temptations.

Ice and blue fell from numerous wounds where blood should have been, a macabre accumulation of snow beneath her form. Shiva’s icy fingers reached out to freeze the fallen Chosen as the assault continued, threatening to freeze him in the very same prison she had left Ardyn in. In a last ditch effort she tried to pull him forward to press her lips against his to seal him and buy herself time. The goddess hated that Gentiana had some affection for this man; made it painful to fight him.

Her cries and screams echoed throughout a darkened world. Another blade to prevent her from drawing too close. “Noctis…” She called out to him trying one last time to appeal to his better nature. 

Shiva was far more human than the massive beast that had been Titan. Noctis could see the realization dawn on her face; the fear that had always been a playful incredulity wiped away as her viscous blood– little more than some sacred water– spilled at his feet.

As she weakened, and he began to laugh. It was mirthless– there was no real enjoyment in this act, only a dark amusement at the idea that he was being left un-harassed to do it. His teeth were bared in a mockery of a grin as he loomed over her fallen body.

“Does your brother care? Can he hear your screams?” He jabbed a finger in the direction of Fociaugh Hollow. 

“Your path… We won’t die for you anymore, and if that ends everything then so be it. Your dawn… it would’ve done the same anyway. I’m doing this on my terms. Not yours. For him, and for me.” And with a flourish, he drove Nyx’s kukri into her chest once more. 

“This is for Luna, who you sent to die.” Another blow. “And for my father whose life Bahamut devoured.” Another. “For Ignis. For the Amicitias’ father.” Again, he drove the blade in, though his hands were so numb he could hardly grip it any longer. “For Insomnia! For Nyx– for Ardyn. Lucis. Caelum.” 

And he fell back onto his knees, wheezing for the chill in the air trying to choke him alive– her lips brushing his but too late. He was shining, wreathed in the light of the ring’s holy magic. 

“Burn!” White flames– incomparable to anything wielded by the Astrals engulfed them both, though they could not touch him as he was made up of the same light. 

She trembled from the countless wounds inflicted upon her. Those Shiva could survive. The rage held in the Chosen’s eyes as blade was driven deep within her breast. Her brother would not come to her aid. Ramuh far too deeply asleep. 

_Burn._

And Shiva screamed. Her cries echoed throughout the once green fields of Duscae. Fingers clawing at Noctis’ form trying anything to stop him as she tried to pour every ounce of her being into stilling him. The light would not allow it. It was the same as her power. A guttural sound bubbled forth from her lips. The death knel of a goddess that could no longer hold form under such onslaught. 

The deity felt herself let go. Her body crumbled into snow and sparks of light until naught remained of her. 

Noctis' grip on the blade faltered as it fell back into his Armiger, replaced by the Glacian's Astral shard-- crushed and seared into nothingness as he had done with Titan's.

In her dying light Ardyn, whom had stood silently body suffering through the bitterest of cold, finally broke the cage of ice over himself. He had not been idle. If the immortal had so chose the ice binding him could have been broken as soon as the fight begun. But why let such a beautiful sight become marred by his interference? 

Uncaring of his state of undress Ardyn moved over to where Noctis lie broken by the price the light demanded on his body. Lips curled into a smile. Excitement lapping at the edges of his consciousness. “A rage so beautiful dwells within.” A hand gripped the fallen Chosen’s chin forcing them to eye contact. “Oh you are exquisite, my dearest Noct.” A thumb lightly traced over lips in admiration. 

It brought Ardyn’s blood to boil like nothing else. 

Noctis was torn between elation and horror at his own actions, his body still trembling. There was nothing that he could do to deny what he had done– this was only just short of cold-blooded murder (no pun intended)– and he had never been one to kill without need. Most of the things he had ever fought had been beasts or Daemons or… Magitek Soldiers. The memory made him shudder. What he knew about them now– made him sick. 

But there he was, coming to him now– his dark fallen angel. 

Ardyn was, over and over brought to the king’s attention as a creature of the old world; like the dark paintings that hung on the walls of the Citadel. He was a vision, a savior come once more to alleviate Noctis’ pain. 

“Are… you alright?” Of course, they couldn’t exactly die– but that didn’t mean the Astral’s powers couldn’t hurt them. His skin still burned and blistered where her ice had tried to shatter his fingertips. When had he collapsed? Ah– and there, next to him was the pile of snow, slowly becoming a puddle. 

She had made it easy for him– and wouldn’t Luna hate him for what he had done? The thought almost made him laugh. He’d done it for her. Vengeance, vengeance for all the suffering the gods had inflicted with their damned plan. 

Noctis was pushing himself up, all but crawling into Ardyn’s arms before he could stop himself. Surely, those screams couldn’t have gone without awakening Ramuh from his slumber– and perhaps he was simply afraid. They were terrifying; their power enough to seal him away or sear him out of existence, probably though perhaps… not now, and not after so much of their shared collective power had already gone. Slowly, they were gaining the upper hand. 

Noctis drew in several breaths and tried not to fall to pieces, questions on  his lips though he was asking the wrong person. “I’m doing the right thing. Aren’t I? For us– to avenge the fallen…” 

“You need not worry about me.” Shiva’s power had hurt. His own skin cold and red in irritation. The same blisters marking Noctis marked him, but they were fading as the darkness erased them. There was pain, but all forgot in light of what he had just witnessed. A vicious murder he did not think to ever see out of the Chosen. 

Arms wrapped around the King of Kings, welcoming him into his embrace. So close he danced on the edge of that beautiful abyss. If he fell, Ardyn would be there to catch him in its depths; a mind so easily malleable. A hand crept up to wind into raven hair stroking in what was a comforting motion trailing down to rub at the base of Noctis’ skull. So terribly lost.

And with no means to turn back without the Glacian. It brought Ardyn a great amount of joy: her demise and the fall of this Chosen. 

“Of course you are.” His voice was deceptively soft. “Were they not the ones responsible for everything? The Astrals sought to use humanity to cleanse the world of their failures. Using the two of us and many others as tools to be discarded once use had been fulfilled.” 

His free hand brought down to rest on Noctis’ hip drawing the other Immortal closer to him allowing him to sit on his leg. “By ending their pitiful existence we free the world from their chains so no others have to die for their cause.” A kiss pressed to his forehead to further soothe the doubts in his companion’s mind. 

It wasn’t how Ardyn or Noctis ever pictured the prophecy playing out, but it was what they were left with. Untested waters of what the world would come to once the Six all lie dead, but one Ardyn was eager to let play out. It would either rend the world asunder or heal it of its ails. 

For now he offered his companion warmth and comfort in his arms. Loyalty proven. 

We free humanity from their chains–

That was what settled into Noctis' mind, propelled him forward. What had been done felt terribly ghastly when he had been such a gentle soul in his youth. He had never had it in him to do something so violent against another human– and then he stopped and took another breath, the mix of earthy water and Ardyn’s natural scent now quite soothing to him. No. What he had killed had not been human at all– if ever, at least not in thousands of years.

The prince shivered a bit, as if the cold was only just hitting him and– Ardyn had to have it much worse. He shrugged out of his demi-cape and gently wrapped it around the elder immortal’s shoulders. Noctis paused to gently touch his face, patting his damp hair with a simple sort of affection. 

“We’ll make it right.” He affirmed. 

Even if it destroyed the world and the both of them in the process. If the world couldn’t exist without the six… then maybe it was better for it not to exist at all. His bitterness agreed that much, at least. The prince; now king of this hellish dark landscape– lifted his head and tried to stop thinking about what had just come to pass. 

…He tried not to think much of the distinct sound of thunder rolling in. Perhaps they were in for a bit of acid rain, after all. It was always black when it fell, now– streaking everything in that awful grime. 

Noctis slowly disentangled himself from Ardyn though he truly did not want to. 

“I’ve caught enough for a decent meal, I think. A small celebration maybe?” They had a long way to go but– the meddler was out of the way, and sooner than he thought possible. 

Guilt festered in his chest, but Noctis had to believe that this was the only way to go forward. He ate up Ardyn’s praise like it was honey– and prepared to go forward once more. 

How wondrous that Noctis responded so readily to praise and a bit of affection. A thought to remember when he needed the Chosen to do as he bid. The poor boy-king must have been so starved for either, and Ardyn could provide if only for his own selfish needs. It sent shivers down his spine that control could come so easily. He fought hard against a smirk at the revelation. 

His companion was far gone if he was offering the cape to him for warmth. It was endearing. A sign of how Noctis was accepting this all. They were both coming to an understanding. Ardyn had never sought pity or sympathy just that simple word, and in a way he knew it was what his companion wished for as well. He left the cape on his shoulders and unwound arms so that Noctis may move from them. 

The incoming storm a sign of Ramuh at last waking from slumber. It would be a time yet before the thunder deity truly awakened. Time yet to regain strength for what would not be an easy fight. What they were doing probably known and gave the remaining Four pause. 

“After what you have accomplished? I do believe a certain amount of festivities are in order.” Ardyn stood, trying to shake the chills from his body now that his mind wasn’t turned to comforting a fallen king. Clothes were pulled out to fight it off while his companion readied himself to return. The cape removed now that his coat was back in its proper place. 

Boots caused wood to creak and bend beneath his weight as he approached Noctis before returning the cape to the other Immortal’s trembling shoulders; fastening the clasps with deft, gentle fingers. “You’ve done well. The doubts others may have once held are no more.” A half smile was offered as hands released the cape as he smoothed out the edges before Ardyn stepped away back towards the outpost. 

Noctis actually smiled when Ardyn so neatly re-fastened his cloak back into place. It was something that he felt hadn’t come in a natural way at all in weeks. It took a good deal of returning himself to decorum and restraint to keep from placing a peck on Ardyn’s cheek as he hefted the bucket that contained their dinner onto his hip. 

 

Time. Time with Ardyn was not something that Noctis had ever thought that he would seek. And yet– he hoped there was more. He wanted to hear him speak about… anything. Tell tales of the world when he was still young, or of the way things once were. All of it sounded appealing. If only Noctis could see his own desperation for the weakness it was. He had never been alone for a moment in his life. It was only natural for him now to seek out companionship in such a manner. 

The walk was oddly pleasant, and he could remember when Duscae was lush and the sun filtered through the trees but really– Noctis had always more fondly loved the night. In Insomnia there were no Daemons that could get close to the Crystal’s paling– that wall had given him no reason to fear it, after all. 

He found himself asking: “Do you prefer the night, to the day? Or is this all getting… really boring?” It had been ten years of blackness– but they both had plenty of memories of the sun. From Ardyn’s natural complexion he could only assume that perhaps he quite enjoyed the sun’s rays or– maybe that was a sign of his sensitivity to it? He could only wonder. 

Still Ardyn gave the question thought and consideration. “Each hour bleeds into another, and the two cycles mark little but a passage of time.” Ten years was but small to him in a lifetime consisting of multiple millennia. 

 

Upon returning to the more quiet area that had once been a place so many people visited, he was quick to gather supplies and go to work cleaning and filleting the fish. That was the easy part, and he was well practiced in it, at least. 

Normality. What Noctis sought for in someone whom had been abnormal for too many years. The man desperate for contact of any sort even if was laid upon him by an immortal that caused him so much pain. Ardyn believed to be no ‘normal’ left within his bones. His humanity an illusion and pale reflection of whom he had once been. 

 

Their walk leisurely, but the clamoring in his mind louder as they neared the source of irritation. The daemon still prowled close enough to rouse the ones he already harbored; an annoyance to be ignored for now. 

“Once I found the light of the sun more preferable to the darkened hours of night.” For it was the night that the once king had the true nature of what his sacrifice rendered onto him come to light. His skin a reflection of many a hour spent traveling. Healing those that were plagued so that they may greet another dawn. 

Now. Things were different. The Daemons scratched and clawed when exposed to the light of the star. Peace now found only in the sunless sky where their voices and movements might be dampened and quelled. “The night grants solace. Its company earning my favor.” The lack of natural greenery an image that was missed, but Ardyn had enough memories to retain him for lifetimes more. 

“The years between I secluded myself in the darkest of the underground. Ruins of a time long past.” A time when he was king and the world much different than the one of endless night. “Ah but you would not wish to hear me reminisce of history long forgot.” Words whispered close to an ear in a deep timbre as Ardyn stood behind Noctis, hand brushing softly over hair. 

Ten years had done much to the prince’s features; more refined and lacking the delicate outlines of youth. The Chosen made all the more attractive, and Ardyn always had an appreciation for beauty, especially ones that were so easily tended to by guiding hands. 

The dulcet tones of Ardyn’s voice soothed him as he worked. It was strange to him now, to think that he had ever resisted them as anything else. That voice had once brought him terror and despair, and even now there were times when he remembered his nigh on futile flight through Zegnautus Keep with only the ring’s power to save him. If not for that, perhaps he’d have gone ages and ages without ever putting the cursed thing on. Ardyn had had to force his hand. 

Everything Ardyn had done had simply been building blocks in his search for oblivion. All he wanted was the fate that Noctis had wished he’d been capable of running from, all that time. 

“I don’t mind it actually,” He began, turning to water from the pump nearby that had once been one of many near the stables. Once he had cleaned up a bit, Noctis set about building a fire, though the gentle brush of hands against his hair did not go lost on him. 

“Honestly I could probably listen to you talk forever. But– I’m just getting started on that whole… forever thing. Could have worse company, I guess.” He teased gently. 

Honestly though– to think that Ardyn could keep up with him in all the ways his lovers couldn’t growing up, despite the twisted malice that was still very real between them was something else in and of itself. It was a constant balancing act between the disgust that Noctis felt towards a man who was so capable of committing atrocities and the warmth and passion and forgiveness– the openheartedness he felt towards a man who had been so deeply wronged by the gods thousands of years before he had existed. Remembering that always brought him back to the same place. They were in the same boat; nothing but puppets dancing on Astral strings. 

It was their only choice now, the only choice they could possibly make– to move forward together. 

With a playful air about him, Noctis turned and pressed a kiss to the curve of Ardyn’s mouth as though it were the most casual and natural thing in the world before bending low and conjuring the spark of magic at his fingertips from the ring. The holy fire faded almost immediately, giving way to the more ephemeral natural flames that crackled to life. 

Fish was seasoned and skewered with what he could find around the outpost and staked up close to the fire– and he inevitably stretched out near the flames, hands braced behind him as he let the fire dry his damp clothes and warm his bones from their encounter with the Glacian. Terribly too normal. Domestic, even. Noctis supposed it really was only a matter of time until they came across another Hunter or two– or maybe someone had already glimpsed them and now they were all keeping their distance; what could they make of it, anyway– Ardyn Izunia come down from his dark tower and the spitting image of someone who no-doubt was the King himself traveling the countryside, terrible destruction left in their wake. 

A stark contrast between the Noctis before him and the man that struggled to pull himself together at the dock. This one was confident and more self-assured. Such dangerous secrets the Chosen allowed to fall from his lips. Adding to the cacophony of techniques to be used against him. 

A playful kiss brought about a smile from the former Chancellor’s lips. Such a sweet man that was so easily led astray and right into the dark embrace of his arms. Everything between them was becoming a more twisted, complicated mess near impossible to pick apart to reveal all the pieces. Beneath it all was an understanding of what they were; what the gods had fashioned them into. Ardyn knew not how long time and death would pass them by as one could not be ended without the other’s passing. “Days will cease to matter after endless years.”

“I am quite delightful company to keep.” When Ardyn was not delving into the more negative aspects of his personality which Noctis would have to confront. 

Fire was most welcome as the immortal’s hair was still drying from his bath and unexpected visit from a now deceased ice goddess. The elation was back again at knowing one of the two that caused him the most pain were erased from his world never to return. 

Surely some Hunters were aware of their presence just as the Daemons that rattled the ones in Ardyn’s mind. Features pinched slightly at the annoyance they caused. Better that their would-be enemies stuck to the shadows. Whom would dare to stand up to men who brought gods to their very knees then erased them from Eos itself? 

“I kept myself not far from here.” He offered as they waited for the fish to be cooked enough to eat. An elegant motion of his hand towards the ruins of Costlemark. “A remnant of my time that felt all the more fitting to call home in-between years.” Time he spent throwing himself into research. Ardyn had all the time in the world on his hands whilst he waited for the prophecy to set in motion. 

Even still, Noctis listened to him speak as he kept an eye on their meal. There would even be more than just this– a bit of finger food if dusty old junk food that was barely within its expiration date counted. Noctis himself of course was a sucker for the comforts of the old world at least in some sense. 

Ten years. Ten years since the world had all but stopped turning. Though he supposed that humanity was resilient and had certainly held out for a while at least. Several years trying to keep things turning as usual. And all for what? 

He sighed and leaned back to look up; met with only inky black rather than the stars he had loved as a boy. Noctis nearly commented on it when something Ardyn said sparked his attention. 

“I’ve been there. Chasing down a royal arm that got looted from the tomb nearby… that place is. Definitely not livable now. And the caves underneath it are even worse.” He said simply. 

Ardyn had always reasoned once he left for Niflheim that Costlemark would fall to less amenable inhabitants. All the daemons that prowled and scratched their way through ancient hallways, creations of his. Untethered and unbound once their creator left, paving the way so that others may gain entry into once hallowed grounds.   
“But– I did notice the technology there. It looks like the stuff in Niflheim. Though, I guess you brought all of that knowledge with you, didn’t you?” This time, when Noctis touched on the subject there was no real malice. “You were planning all of this before I was even born, weren’t you?” 

“It was but knowledge from my reign of Lucis. Technology forgotten to ages past and lost to memory.” Knowledge the immortal so carefully spent studying and learning until he could replicate techniques used by those once more skilled than he. More nefariously, the place were he learned out to use the Scourge trapped inside to create more daemons. 

A curious thought. “Were you happy when you heard the news?” Or was he angry? 

He had after all, made it clear that he’d been waiting for all of this for a very long time. Noctis wasn’t sure what that meant though he had begun to peace it together through the various hints and riddles. Ardyn couldn’t find peace but– Noctis was meant to obliterate him. 

And then, as though it had suddenly dawned on him– with a touch of awe in his tone– “Did you… do what you did to make me hate you? To make me want to kill you?” 

Noctis was opening his eyes to the larger machinations that overshadowed all of Ardyn’s plots. That his companion was able to see past the veiled tricks was most telling. The Accursed fell silent as he carefully crafted responses in his mind. No other had drawn so close to the heart of the matter or if they did, dared not to voice such matters with him. Was this not what he wished for? No sympathy. No pity. Just a hand reaching out to understand. 

Eyes cast down and away before Ardyn found words to his voice lifting once more as he spoke. “The prophecy has been known for many centuries. I had but to wait patiently. News of your birth delivered from the lips of the Infernian was well received.” So many long years were spent cast down in the depths of a remnant of the past. Scheming and plans laid out in meticulous detail so not a thing was left to chance. He would be given but one after all. A final hope and salvation of release from the prison forced upon him; redemption, revenge, and the peace so far from his reach until now.

Few times Ardyn Izunia had ever been afforded such… he could not even put a word to the feeling. Teeth clenched. Emotions conflicted. “Mine was but a hand to guide you in a direction. Your downfall an end to the dreams of blood royal from the line of the jealous king. My methods were not entirely without amusement for me.” Despite all that Noctis may think of him, Ardyn was still twisted and mad on the inside.

“If my efforts brought my fall along with yours, I would not have minded such an outcome.” 

Ardyn was a hard man to read even at the best of times. Now, he couldn’t tell if he was frustrated or happy or– both? The idea of Ardyn being genuinely happy was something else altogether, and something he’d have to compartmentalize and explore at a later time. Ardyn happy– whether it was tainted with the glee of spite and vengeance realized or not was something he found himself very appreciative of. 

He hummed softly and shifted to re-adjust their dinner. Should be ready any minute now– and he found himself surprisingly calm when Ardyn spoke of his own downfall as his only hope. That made sense. Made a lot of things make sense. 

It had always been hard for Noctis– expected to think independently and hold himself up even though he really only existed for the sake of others’ schemes in the end. He could’ve blamed his father, even Luna– but it was the gods who had orchestrated it all, who had put them in such ugly positions to make those terrible choices in the first place. 

“It’s all being handled.” He said, trying to keep a firm focus on it, after all– “You said I’d be your salvation. I’ll see to that… but I’m going to try a different way first.” Which was in a sense all that they were doing. 

It was Noctis’ promise to Ardyn; perhaps all that he could really offer. “Maybe someone like me would really have to hate a guy to kill them, right? But now… I know that I can bring you peace. That’s more important to me than my own vengeance.” Noctis said softly, his gaze fixed on the fire. “I can’t forgive the gods. I– you’ve waited a long time. Let me try. That’s all I ask. If it doesn’t work out then… We’ll go out together in a blaze of glory just like you planned.” 

Noctis wasn’t sure what he hoped for after the gods were out of the way. He wasn’t sure that he knew what would happen or if anything would happen at all. All the same, he decided then and there he’d see all of this to the end. Ardyn deserved better. 

He gave a small nod and got to his knees from the sitting position he’d been in with a quiet grunt and pulled the stake from the ground before offering one to the elder king, as though he were perfectly at peace with such a role. In another time long ago, such a position was a place only for the most trusted of servants and for “favorites” and secret lovers. 

Salvation. How many years had Ardyn come to live within the darkness with no hope of the light? He felt almost manic at such a thing so near at hand. 

And what would Noctis wish of their end if the plan went as successfully as hoped? What the Chosen offered him was not the peace of death, but something else. They were but two immortals at the end of the day damned by the very same gods. What would Noctis have of him other than meet his end? Continue to exist? 

The prospect left Ardyn vulnerable and uncertain. An aching in his breast of both jubilation and the anxiousness of an unclear future. His plans on a path altered after such careful planning, but not set to means he found displeasing. 

Daemonic whisperings silenced as his mind contemplated. Hand brought to muse through hair; an anxious tick. “As you wish, your majesty.” His tone altogether more quiet than the normal confidence Ardyn embodied. No condescension. Just acceptance. Rage tempered for the time being. Naive words from an overly optimistic king. Would he dare to allow them to take root? Hope could be so easily torn. A lesson well learned from the past, but the Accursed had nothing left to lose when all else had been taken. 

“I offered you my aid. I guarantee it’s continuance. You need not worry of my conviction to the cause,” Voice returned to a semblance of what was normal for Ardyn. Elegant fingers grasped wood, taking that which was offered. There was a slight twitch of his nose not in disgust of the meal itself, but the lack of proper utensils. Even in a world where such luxuries were trivial, Ardyn was ever the pampered royal at heart. 

But the meal was fresh and not the stale, bland, or otherwise unhealthy stash brought with them. He ate silently and carefully so not to make a mess of himself. The stake stabbed into soft soil in case there was need of its use again. 

When he had finished, his hand reached over to grasp Noctis by the chin, uncaring if his companion was finished with his meal or not. A kiss given that was sweeter than those he more commonly offered to him. A slight nip to the Chosen’s bottom lip as he pulled back, making a point to allow eyes to roam across features made all the more attractive by time. The softness of his visage fade to give way to the more familiar confident, arrogant smirk. Touch withdrawn, Ardyn stood making his way to the camper as the storm drew closer and louder. 

They seemed to talk themselves in circles rather often– a constant dance that must be completed in order to reaffirm their shaky loyalties. It was ties to each other that threatened to cut in too tight; to bind rather than cradle. The cause itself was not in jeopardy; no, they had both sold their souls to it already. It was strange that they both seemed reluctantly aware of the ‘something more’ blossoming in hearts too stunted to truly embrace it. 

Noctis could though to some extent; perhaps with the same unhealthy gusto that Lunafreya had once clung to her adoration of him in the past. 

It was hard for him to focus and go forward without the feeling of strong bonds holding him up. He’d been surrounded by strength for so long– by unerring devotion, and now he wondered if Ardyn would turn on him for his own amusement. There was still a part of him, surely, that reveled in the idea of making Noctis suffer. Now though, that was something still at his fingertips in a different way. 

He was lost in thought and startled a bit when Ardyn gripped his jaw, pulled him in for a kiss that was nothing if not soft and sweet; the kind of kiss that lovers really did share– and left him stunned, reeling a bit as he got up and flitted off to the old camper. 

The King of Kings lingered for a bit, finishing up his food before tossing the leftover water in the bucket on the fire he’d built. He didn’t hesitate before dragging himself, tired and a bit weary ( and quietly amazed at how quickly his body had restored itself ) into the camper himself. 

He stood towards the front, toeing out of his shoes and unfastening his cloak to discard it and the pauldron upon the old table. Noctis proceeded to strip down entirely before disappearing into the cramped washroom to see what he could make of whatever water was left in the caravan’s storage tank. The water smelled of rust and it was cold– but it was better than nothing, and he was more than a little glad to get the blood and grime off of himself. Noctis also finally talked himself into facing his reflection and shaved– it did a good deal for his spirits. 

He did not bother re-dressing when he came to crawl into the bed at the back, sighing at the relief of stretching aching muscles. 

Ardyn was still lost inside of his own head when he entered their temporary residence. Such was an often occurrence for an immortal that kept his presence hidden and secretive. Niflheim was but the most prominent he had allowed himself to climb into the public eye since his own reign. Not that they would remember as a treacherous brother had his name stricken from every record. The Accursed would be amazed if a single tome ever gave mention of him. The Lucis Caelum’s count of kings always off by a single digit from the lack of the lost king among its numbers. 

Clothes remained stained in the dried blood of the Titan were hung with care as if they weren’t a macabre painting. Proof of their deeds. Soon more would adorn the garments as the two of them made good on promises made to each other. 

The irony that the man destined to kill him would be the one he allowed the closest to him in centuries settled in, a huff of breath escaping through his nose; an almost sense of rage at himself for giving Noctis such leeway. However, Ardyn could not help but to feel something not quite hatred towards him. Maybe the loneliness of too many years was finally driving him into a deeper sort of madness. Madness brought about by a soul that was trying to figure him out and understand. 

He retired to the bed after clearing the sheets of dust. His body bare as he laid against the mattress all of the sheets pulled around him in a cocoon. Ears caught the sounds of his companion as he moved about until he felt the now familiar weight settling next to him, and he smirked. 

Instead Ardyn turned so his back was no longer to Noctis. Arms emerged from the blankets before pulling the young king closer. Bruises and marks were gone thanks to flesh healed by magic. For a while he simply held him, basking in the warmth of another body so closely pressed to his own. Fingers idly danced over the ring that burdened his companion. Such power that had the Daemons _quivering_ inside him, fearful that it may be turned against them.   
Noctis didn’t expect to be pulled close like that– but it was a terribly nice sensation. He shifted and squirmed until he could comfortably curl against Ardyn, skin melding against skin. Pulled in so close until knees knocked awkwardly together for a moment only for legs to carefully intertwine with one another in a careful search for balance. 

Noctis couldn’t remember ever really being held like that– and even if it is just for the simple creature comforts of having another body; another being like oneself close at hand– it seemed to him in that moment to be one of the simple, nicest things he’d ever experienced. Quite strange to think of such a thing coming from Ardyn, of all people. 

 

Ardyn’s voice low when he did finally speak. “Were you not warned of a price to pay if you wished to share the bed?” But Ardyn had not moved to exact which begged the question if he really cared to take it. He was after all, in a more generous mood. 

 

Noctis decided to, for the moment, cast off any of those things holding him back and simply ‘be.’ He was far too exhausted to really think any further than that, anyway. Noctis gently twined his fingers with the ones brushing against the band on his finger and leaned in to nuzzle into the soft waves of Ardyn’s hair. He pressed a couple of chaste kisses to the crown of his head and then lowered himself to the pillow – well, more like the crook of Ardyn’s arm.

“Ah, the bed toll, yes of course. How could I forget?” Noctis yawned though, pressing his tired eyes against Ardyn’s skin. 

“You could have at it if you like but uh… M'probably just gonna fall asleep on you.” He muttered. 

Really, he was only half kidding. Noctis found that he definitely… rather liked the idea of Ardyn wanting him, even if it was in a purely carnal nature. But– even he and his immortal stamina had limits. Noctis was still Noctis. 

“So… rain check?” Another soft kiss pressed to his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you,” 

“Now where would the fun in that be? I would rather my paramours awake and aware. Full attention on me.” If it ever deviated he would so harshly remind them of whom they were laying with.

Noctis was truly an affectionate creature. He absorbed what was given to him and was all too eager to give in return. Tenderness that Ardyn only associated with a lover, not an enemy turned to reluctant ally. The impulse was there to pull his captured hand away, but he let it be. The Accursed could convince himself that giving into a simple gesture just this once would be acceptable. 

He had no intentions of extracting the ‘bed toll’-- just words to keep up appearances. His own body was still recovering from the damages rendered by gods, as well as the healing light that upset the control the Daemons thought they had over him. Instead he would accept the chaste kisses, closeness, and sweet mannerisms as payment enough. Ardyn chuckled lowly, shifting to allow Noctis to lay where he pleased. 

“A promise to hold you to, Noct.” His chin rested on raven hair once his bedmate had settled in a comfortable position. Thunder rumbled in the background as the rains started. Black rain tainted by the very scourge in the air. The Fulgurian calling out to the Chosen King. How nice of the Astral to send out an invitation just as the two of them were closing their eyes. The deity would have to be kept waiting. Ramuh was not going anywhere. 

In truth due to his nature of slumbering in the heavens, he may not truly be aware of what had transpired, only having heard the dying cries of his fellow immortals.

Ardyn lie awake a while longer until his companion’s breath gave away that he was well and truly out of the world. Only then did he allow eyelids to fall and entered into slumber at the melodic sound of rain drops on a camper roof.


	5. The Striking Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~Ignore my FFXIV reference in the title you saw nothing~~
> 
> The Fulgurian calls the fallen kings to face him. Judgment must be passed one way or the other...

When he came back to the waking world the storm still raged outside of sheet metal walls. Noctis, as usual, still lie with his eyes closed; dead to the world. Flashes of lightning providing momentary lighting into an otherwise dark dwelling. In such light Noctis appeared as the beauty he was now without the grime dirtying his otherwise attractive features. His stubble gone, but it did not detract from his face. 

A light was turned on to illuminate the area around the bed. Ardyn shifted, regaining his hand that had been entwined with Noctis’ before slowly rousing the King of Kings from his rest.

“Noctis. _Noctis_.” His voice was still husky from sleep as he shook his companion awake. “The Fulgurian is calling us forth. Shall we make him wait?” 

In Noctis' dream he wandered a spiral path through corridors of darkness. Ever, the young king chased snatches of his youth– of his home city– and came back empty handed. All that was light and goodness was so far away. But there were bursts of warmth in the distance. Fire. Noctis clambered for it, over rocks and fallen bodies. It didn’t matter what was in his way. He clawed himself closer, closer to the figure he could now make out as a man wreathed in flames, smeared in darkness. For a moment he was reminded of the last he had seen of Ravus Nox Fleuret; sent to him as the last nail in the coffin of his despair. A mercy, to end him– 

But it was not him, it was Ardyn– the scourge dripping from his eyes and lips. The fire did not consume him, though it was warm– inviting. Noctis reached for him and pulled him close– though the black oozed onto him, and he could taste it bubbling up in his throat. He didn’t care. Noctis pulled him close enough, closer until he too caught fire in the blaze.

His name being uttered in those warm, velvet tones brought him back to the waking world. Ardyn was there as he’d left him, and a storm raged beyond the walls of their tiny shelter. Perhaps Ramuh was waiting to once more pass his judgment upon him as he had a decade ago– He knew the path. Had walked it more than once to find his crystal and form the covenant left open to him by Luna. 

Noctis pushed himself up slowly, blankets falling low to pool around his waist. It was basically a given at this point, that Ardyn would awaken before he did. Somehow– Noctis still half expected to see the morning light when he was just waking up, though that had been so many years ago. He felt a strange ache at the idea of wishing he could’ve shared such things with Ardyn; wishing that things had been different. But– they couldn’t have been. If things had gone any differently they wouldn’t be the same people by any means. 

He slowly blinked sleep from his eyes and rubbed at his face. The tiredness wasn’t falling away very easily, perhaps if only because he had expended so much of his own energy reserves the day before. However– it didn’t seem as though Ramuh was going to give them the time to lick their wounds terribly much. 

“The… Stormbringer calls.” He muttered, tapping at his temple as though to suggest that in fact yes, his voice was doing just that. It was a terrible thing to be used to, but Ardyn could sympathize. Noctis paused to cradle his aching head for a few moments. 

“I– might be a little slow getting around.” Strained, his words came through gritted teeth. “Pretty sure… he’s **pissed**.” 

Ardyn shifted to give his companion just enough space to rise up. He was not long in following. A stretch to his back assuaging soreness from sleeping in a bed almost too small for a tall frame. Pinched expression and a weariness surround his companion spoke volumes on the state he was in. Noctis had, after all, eliminated two gods in one day: Allowed the Crystal’s light to sear through him eliminating the very same deities that wished for him to take its power. 

Ramuh was undoubtedly upset and searching for answers. Such was the way of the god that took the face of an old, wise, man; always seeking. Just as demanding as Ifrit at times as Ardyn recalled of the Stormbringer’s summon. 

The Immortal wondered why Ifrit remained quiet in his mind. The only one of the Six that still spoke with him. For all he knew the god of fire and chaos secretly loved the disappearance of his rival gods. Fiery, hot headed, but there was no way the fire Astral did not see the fate that awaited him. 

For now the Daemons in his mind were a murmur. One of them required to be coherent to face judgement. The brunt of the damage dealt this time would need to fall to him when Noctis was so clearly worn around the edges. Ramuh was no giant brute like the Titan nor a gentle soul like Shiva. He was a tactician that could render them asunder. 

Elegant hand reached behind the Chosen’s neck, massaging and kneading at the base of his skull. The gesture wasn’t tender but more professional in its manner. A means to help calm the thunderous roar in Noctis’ head. 

Noctis’ thoughts swam back to the present as those delicate fingers pressed into tense muscle, lips and teeth moving over bare skin– and he shuddered a bit– lashes fluttering for a moment. The king reached up and gently passed his fingers through Ardyn’s hair, feeling again the soft curls that were quickly becoming a favorite thing of comfort for him. 

He couldn’t remember that last time he’d felt something this bad– even the slumbering Archean hadn’t caused him such a clouded mind with that familiar splitting headache. No– they had caught Titan unaware, and not all of his long-suffering could prepare his more simple mind for what had been brought down upon him as a hammer of judgment. Ramuh was something else altogether– and the more terrifying dragons still awaited them. The thought of facing Leviathan again was enough to turn Noctis’ stomach but… that was for another time. 

Ramuh was perhaps the most impartial of the Astrals that he knew of. Even more so than Shiva who came with a gentle face and watched as those she watched over went to die– he instead chose not to involve himself and had only ever been benevolent towards the King of Kings this time. Had given Noctis a simple trial. Merciful, in comparison. But he too– would stand on the ideals that the others held. He surely had passed judgment on Ardyn, already. 

 

“You leave the majority of our task befallen to me this time, your majesty? How generous you are.” Lips and teeth bit and kissed at the column of his companion’s neck. A further distraction from an Astral too impatient to allow them rest. 

“But if I must carry us… then I shall take the task with pleasure.” Yet, Ardyn still needed Noctis somewhat aware. He didn’t fear if the Astral forced breath to stop, but it was always rather troublesome to revive a body that for all visual purposes was dead. Rage simmered beneath the surface and manic glee was poised and ready to inflict pain in turn to the Astral that pained his partner.

 

This was real. Ardyn was next to him; warm and all but crackling with the energy to fight. Noctis’ breathing was a bit ragged, his brow furrowed from the cacophony in his mind– but Ardyn’s voice called him to focus. He had faced this before and he would come through it, even if the Fulgurian tried to rip his mind apart. There were some things inside of him that the gods could not have; could not touch or command. 

“I’ll lend you my light,” He managed after a few moments. “This is… nothin’.” 

It was weird to think something like this– that Ardyn had his back. But it was true; they could not reach their goal without relying on each others’ power and guidance. He watched the elder Immortal’s face for a few moments, fingertips brushing through his hair and over the curve of his cheek. Such a motion offered just as much comfort to himself as it might have to Ardyn been unsettling. 

“Let’s go.” It took him some effort but he managed to disentangle himself. More and more he simply did not want to. “Just promise me after this one... We can rest a bit.” It wasn’t clear if it was a joke or not– 

But he was at least on his feet and getting dressed. The storm raged on, the sounds of Daemons lurking nearby disturbingly absent. It was likely they wanted no part in the stirring Astral’s rage and had made them selves scarce accordingly. 

Ardyn was becoming rather addicted to the touches to his hair; spoiled by them even. Comfort was not required, but the Immortal hardly ever turned down affections. 

Time would be needed to face the remainder of the Six after Ramuh’s life had ended. Leviathan was a she-bitch given serpent form and the very rage of the seas. Ifrit would have his own quarrel with Ardyn that came on a personal, more vindictive level. Bahamut a vicious dragon that would likely kill them at least once before he bowed and caved. 

Ardyn hummed in agreement. “You may be allowed as much rest as can be afforded, Noct.” He held no pre-conceived notions that both of them wouldn’t need it. 

The Fulgurian would be allowed what Ardyn was deeming as his. Noctis did not belong to him in the strictest sense, but the Accursed did so hate to lose his favored toy too soon. He rose after Noctis to take some time in the small washroom to rid himself of his own growing amount of stubble. All too cheery this day, he hummed an old tune to himself. He had little need to perfect appearances for the Astral, but Ardyn was a vain man. 

Noctis finished dressing himself and then stood near the window, watching in the dim light from inside as the blackened droplets rolled down, staining everything a sooty grey. He heard Ardyn’s cheerful humming and focused instead on that. His voice was as ever pleasant, and offered a welcome distraction from everything else. 

Noctis seemed mostly ready by the time the Accursed emerged and dawned his own garments; soon to be decorated in more divine blood. Another light massage was given to the King of Kings as he smirked. Eyes glittering with maniac power barely contained. A silent insistence that if the Chosen were to falter he would revel in taking more of his share of work. 

“Come. The sooner we heed his call, the sooner his voice inside that head of yours is silenced.” His hand then removed from providing his companion some relief. The rain outside came stained in dappled grey as it fell. The streaks mirrored Ardyn’s appearance when the scourge faded from visible sight. Lightning struck repeatedly in a single point not far. A sign of where Ramuh wished to speak to the King of Kings and demanded his audience. 

“He is the impatient sort today. Most unlike him.” 

The process was slower than he might have liked, even for Noctis. It was as though he couldn’t really force himself to wake up, couldn’t seem to shake the fog as though Ramuh's storm had manifested in his very mind. It was an obvious act of sabotage he thought, and silently loathed the little crystal shard that bound him to Ramuh for its dissonance. Though he remembered then that Titan had been able to shout him down from a distance even before bestowing him any astral shard. 

 

“I… guess everybody’s noticed something’s up. If the world’s coming apart I feel like we’d have noticed by now. He’s probably just... really, really pissed.” It was inane babbling in response to Ardyn’s astute observation. The flashes of light were oddly welcomed– and they illuminated the once familiar plains of Duscae if only for a few moments at a time. 

If he destroyed them, would there ever be a dawn again? And what did dawn really promise anyway…? Noctis sighed and gazed back into Ardyn’s face. He was… terrifying and lovely. Lovely in the way he had been the day Noctis had been forcibly dragged into the Crystal. He remembered that so clearly; how sad but wild Ardyn’s eyes had been as he told him the truth; of their shared name. 

Noctis took a shaking breath, fighting the dull ache in his skull, and then he kissed him– something maybe a little too affectionate. Mawkish in the way he cradled the face of the Accursed, what would’ve been utterly unthinkable before now was what brought him hope and comfort. Either way: Dawn or no dawn, they’d go and face it together. It was the least he could do for the ones he’d left behind. They deserved either hope or the peace of oblivion, and with Ardyn’s help he could give it to them.   
A change had occurred in Noctis. Ardyn could feel it in the way his companion kissed him now. The Chosen no longer held fear of him if he ever did at all, but this was more than Noctis seeking out his comfort in a troubled time. Something else was blossoming and slowly overriding all else. He would hate to give voice and call it affection, but it was. Pure and simple. 

It stalled the maniac of a twisted psyche and brought forth a more possessive side of the Immortal. The Astrals would no longer be allowed to have their King of Kings. Noctis was _his_ now. None would understand the weight the Chosen bore better than he. A fallen King of Light turned into the darkest of Oracles for the new. It nearly brought Ardyn to laughter. Ramuh would pay for daring to think he or any of the remaining held Noctis’ allegiance. 

 

Noctis meanwhile, only lingered for a few more moments before steeling himself against the onslaught of the weather outside and opening the door to the damp breeze. 

Cringing at the ozone smell of the Scourge in the air brought down by the water in the clouds, Noctis began his march forward– not looking to see if Ardyn was there. He knew he would follow. With gritted teeth, he set course for the runestone closest to Fociaugh Hollow.

Rain pelted down upon him as he followed behind the Chosen to where the deity could be summoned down to their world. Lightning a way marker all too reminiscent of Ardyn’s own journey so long ago. 

“The Fulgurian will not be as easy as the last we faced. His mind is keen despite the face he wears.” A warning for Noctis to be on guard and aware of his surroundings. Ardyn could only help him as much as Noctis helped himself. 

Soaked to the bone, Noctis tried to huddle in his cape but it was simply not as formidable as Ardyn’s layers against the weather. At one point the wind picked up so strongly he could barely keep his footing in the darkness and was half expecting his companion to become very annoyed with him bumping and bouncing into his arm as they trudged on. Nearly half of the six felled in a matter of days. Ramuh was as much a terrifying sight as Titan, not nearly as personal a kill as the Glacian had been. 

The storm came to an eerie calm as they approached the stone. A flash of light and a thunderous boom marked the appearance of the larger than life god. Floating above the ground as his hand drew his staff from the clouds above to regard the King of Kings summoned to his feet. Brows furrowed as he noted Noctis was not alone. The Accursed walked at his side. The man he was fated to kill. The reason the covenants had been bestowed upon him. 

Noctis winced and stepped back at the burst of light, his eyes blazing that garish neon as Ramuh appeared. He trembled, though he held his head high. The strain on his mind and body was becoming quite clear, and a part of him knew that he would likely not survive this battle. Nothing that the Crystal wouldn’t fix– That didn’t make the prospect of tasting death for the first time any more terrifying. 

He raised his hand as though to brandish the ring of the Lucii, its holy light shining like a beacon in the unseen realm. 

 

Ramuh's voice came loud in the words of the gods only understood by those gifted by the light. --One that would only compound the headache in Noctis’ mind.

“King of Kings, I awaken from a decade’s slumber from distant cries of my brethren. I yet find you here in the shadow of the fallen whose existence can not be allowed continuance. Were you not informed of your purpose? A slumber forced so you may realize power gifted?” 

As Ramuh questioned and postured Ardyn took steps forward, no longer standing behind, but beside Noctis. He itched; Ready to pounce upon the deity who did not think to see what appeared before him. Dearest Ramuh, who offered his aid so easily and remained so overly pragmatic. 

His gargantuan form was dwarfed only by perhaps Leviathan. That was its own terror that– and the guilt with which Noctis had gazed upon the runestone upon their approach. Out of the six, the Fulgurian was perhaps the one who had done the least to wrong him. 

Semantics. This was war. 

Luna had once told him the story of the Astral War. They had nearly torn Eos asunder, supposedly all five of them against Ifrit. He didn’t buy it, not now. Surely there had been more to it than all that. He didn’t think these gods above infighting after all he had seen. 

“It’s not your turn to pass judgment.” Noctis barked over the distant din of the storm. Now it was time to call on the power of light.

This time, Noctis drew the shield of his ancestor from the aether and prepared to spit his challenge. 

“Your sister and brother lie dead by my hand. Try to stop me if you can.” He cast his gaze to Ardyn in a silent exchange. He trusted him now well enough to not think twice about going into battle beside him, even when he felt so feeble. 

“Answer for what you did to him.” Noctis was not stalling so much as he demanded real answers. The Fulgurian might be the only one with them. “I’m ending this. The Astrals have no right to meddle in the fates of humanity any longer.” 

Ramuh was but a silent passer of judgement who had kept his lips sealed as Bahamut had passed his own judgement to Ardyn. The god of thunder may have been silent then, but the Accursed held no forgiveness for any of the Six. If any mercy were to be had for the Fulgurian it was lost at the sight of Noctis barely keeping himself together. Glances exchanged and the barest nod came from the fallen king. Noctis had his aid here. 

The giant of a god tilted his head, analyzing the new situation presented. So the new King of Kings had made an unholy alliance-- dragged into the darkness-- likely by the hand of Ardyn himself. There was something more there, but the threat presented very real. If his siblings lie slain, Ramuh had little choice than to send the two immortals to slumber. Death would not keep them, but it gave him time to seek out the remaining three. 

“Your path is an unfortunate one, King of Kings. I lament the loss of my siblings and must demand reparations for their demise. You are no longer worthy of the covenant.” His voice was unbearably loud and commanding, using the connection that still existed to keep Noctis bound with the inner torment of his head. 

But the deity no longer held such power over Ardyn, that covenant broken millennia ago. A hand came up as he stepped in front of his partner. A wordless signal to stand down for now and protection offered. The Accursed could little afford for Noctis to go down so quickly: not when his light was needed to finish the Astral’s existence. He did not tremble in the face of death. “Do try to keep yourself alive, your majesty.” 

His body glowed in garish neon red light as he summoned his full Armiger around in an ethereal light. It would expend much of his power, but it was necessary to keep the thunder god from harming the Chosen too much. His crossbow plucked from his arsenal as he rose up, offering a tempting target for Ramuh. A bolt was fired and the god began moving against him. 

Lightning coursed from the staff, ramming into Ardyn as the Immortal fought; switching between plunging weapons by hand and sending the Armiger's blades flying like missiles into the god’s flesh. The pain of wounds sustained only sent the Accursed’s mind into further maniac state. Laughter as black-red blood burst from flesh growing paler. Lightning exposed the fire light of a body trying to heal a deteriorating form that could not withstand Ramuh's electricity coursing through it. 

The rain pelting Noctis' eyes stung, but worse still was the static crackling through the air. Ardyn moved faster than he did, as his clouded mind lessened his ability to focus– still, he had at least a half a mind to focus on strategy. He pulled the only weapon he could think of being of any avail in this situation as the elder immortal pummeled the Astral with his weapon of choice. His shield vanished back into the Armiger, and he shifted. 

The Cerberus rested on his shoulder, hands still trembling, but he could aim. The focus he could find  would have to be enough. 

He took aim as best he could, and opened fire on Ramuh’s arms and shoulders. These weapons the Empire had designed for the very purpose of being able to stand against the magic of the Lucian line, and the Astrals themselves. It was with Ardyn’s help after all; the recreation of ancient technology that could fell the gods themselves; or at the very least, their physical forms. And that was all that Noctis really needed. 

One bullet after another sank into the side of Ramuh’s wizened visage, and he raised his staff suddenly to call down a burst of lightning. He had seen that same unbelievable power in action before– and it could turn lesser creatures to ash. 

He dodged as fast as he could, throwing himself from the blast zone, but the electricity still crept up his leg– caused his muscles to seize, and he stumbled and fell. A strangled cry of pain, and everything went black for a moment as his heart, no longer so very necessary to his survival, skipped and stopped. He was nearly sick, but managed to push imself to his feet groggily– pushed through it with the stubbornness that Noctis seemed to be able to so freely muster. 

A cry resounded that spoke of the god landing a blow against Ardyn’s weakened companion. The Immortal was fully aware of how little damage Noctis’ overly extended body could take. Ramuh could not be allowed to harm him further. _Rage._ He felt an unbridled rage that the thunder god would dare to go after what was his. 

Purpose renewed, Ardyn gathered his strength and unleashed another flurry of his weapons aimed directly at cracking the small horns upon his enemy’s head. Splits and the echoing of cracked bones echoed in the valley they fought in-- if that did not garner the deity’s attention he feared little else would. 

 

Noctis then warped to the top of a tree, taking a moment to regain himself despite the pain racking his body and then dropped to his feet, a bit inelegant in his landing but solid all the same. 

There was a capability the ring gave him, that really he only saved for the most frustrating, most dangerous of enemies– and if Ramuh remained focused on swatting at Ardyn then he might be able to manage… 

That flare of neon fuchsia that so echoed Ardyn’s own dark light burst from the ring in a tether, draining Ramuh’s power into Noctis’ own hand, even as his skin turned ashen and cracked and flaked under the strain. 

Cries of pain tore the air asunder as the Fulgurian returned to keeping Ardyn’s vicious onslaught at bay. Too preoccupied with him to notice the pull and draw of the ring whose light and power reflected that of the gods. The staff raised, but the ball of energy concentrated on the horn of the horse that adorned it this time, charging. 

Blades danced as the Accursed warped to an injury previously inflicted by his companion on the ground. Movement of Noctis below alerted him to the Chosen’s intentions. If he could just keep the thunder god occupied for long enough, then Noctis might be able execute a stunt that was none too wise for him. He would die in all likelihood, but it gave Ardyn the motivation needed as daggers, swords, and spears dug deep, forcing the polluted nature of his soul into each attack, weakening the god piece by piece. 

Until, that is-- a colossal hand found purchase on the fallen king, plucking him in a manner none too gently from Ramuh’s shoulder, crushing bones. And by Eos did it hurt as bones gave way under strength as Ardyn turned pale. The Scourge dripped from eyes and mouth as the Daemons fought to heal a failing body. He held back cries of pain and gritted teeth until he felt they too may break. Noctis could not afford lose his focus now. 

The Accursed fought and struggled, freeing one hand to summon forth a dagger. He drove it deep with neon light pouring his darkness into the attack until Ramuh’s agony echoed into the sky and he released him. Nothing halted Ardyn’s fall. The Armiger around him vanished into the aether as the immortal was no longer able to manifest them. Hi body slammed into the ground, wracked with coughs bringing up bubbles of black red blood,chest struggling for breath that would not come. 

And for a moment Ramuh, too concerned with his own pain allowed him to be as the god writhed against the pure darkness invading as it corroded and weakened his form. He regained enough sense of self to slam the staff down once more. Ardyn let out a half strangled scream as it ravaged him, forcing a heart into stillness before he ceased to move altogether. 

Noctis quickly found that had to split his attention despite the colossal ache in his head– and he was woefully distracted as he watched that massive hand that had grabbed him in its terrifying grip to protect him more than once-- crushing the life out of his partner. It was hard to make himself absorb the logical fallacy. Even if they died they would be fine– his own body was badly burned, already pushing far beyond the limits of what a human could be capable of. 

He fired off another volley of bullets as a bolt struck Ardyn and this time he could not mask his agony. It made Noctis grit his teeth– resist every instinct telling him to rush to his ally. No, he could not falter. Not now, not in such a crucial moment. What did he have that could do more damage than this, and already with so little strength left?

And that was when he heard it, the soft whisper that underpinned the booming accusations of the Fulgurian. He did not know this voice; so unlike the others but– he knew it was an Astral. 

Dragging in ragged breaths, he followed the only instinct he had and reached out to the remaining astral shards in his arsenal. The one that had been given to him at the start of their journey–as though it were collateral or a dark promise; the one that he had not won through any trial in its dark sunset tones and sharp edges. 

“ _Yes_ ,” 

His voice was swallowed by the raging storm, but there was one more hope for them, offered at the turn of the tide. 

Noctis summoned his father’s sword and tossed it– sank it hard into the muddy ground and re-materialized next to Ardyn’s failing body. He was a mess, utterly broken and clearly not breathing. He had to remind himself that he would be fine, given time. All the same– The prince slipped his arm beneath him and lifted him as best he could before the ground split open, a burst of hellfire making the blackened rain hiss and splutter as the Infernian pulled himself out of the depths of the earth. He stood as tall as Ramuh, and did not hesitate to attack with a bellowing war cry the likes of which Noctis had never heard. 

It was a battle of gods now, the judged taking his vengeance on the judge. Did Ifrit not know that he, too would be on the chopping block when the scheming true Kings of Lucis decided that his time was up? It didn’t matter. Perhaps much like in Ardyn’s case, his absolution and rage was all that mattered and it was awe inspiring.

Part of the hillside crumbled as his crooked blade cut the old wizard asunder, his staff falling broken. Noctis in turn, cradled Ardyn to himself, his free hand lifted as the neon light in his eyes blazed to life and engulfed Ramuh’s falling form with the white flames of Holy, and the cries echoed through the skies. 

The storm faltered, winds calming and rain sputtering as Noctis poured all of what was left of himself into burning away Ramuh’s essence. 

“So, this is your choice? Oblivion for the Six…” His voice came clearly only once more before he fell silent again forevermore– and Noctis crumbled, feeling the cold hand of death for the first time as what was left of his life energy crushed Ramuh’s Astral shard. He fell, entangled with the body of the accursed into a blackness like no sleep he had ever known.


	6. Friendly Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn's patron calls to him, and he must tread carefully to protect his interests. Noctis teeters dangerously on the edge of light and darkness, unsure as to which way he will fall when he finally slips from the precipice.

The pain was far greater than he had expected. It had been long ago before Ardyn had felt his body so useless. Broken beyond what the Daemons writhing beneath the surface could repair before the mortal coil gave way. With whispering in his mind he was unable to decipher as his mind became a scattered mess of thoughts. He was all too aware of the numbness setting in and what it meant. 

Death. His soul’s tether to this realm weakened for a time as his body ceased to function. The oblivion welcomed him like an old friend. Noctis would have to be on his own for a time. Though so weakened Ardyn was not certain his companion would last before death rose to claim him too. Visions of fire and once mighty throne flashed in his mind’s eyes and the dark whispers he knew too well. 

Noctis had a chance then. It was the last fleeting thought before his mind went completely blank. 

In the mists between worlds, Ardyn's consciousness lingered. There, he saw the Infernian come to him in his diminished form; more human, more approachable.  
"You came to Noctis' aid though you do not share a covenant with him. Why?"

Ifrit smiled sweetly– the expression one of near fondness as he reached out and patted the top of Ardyn’s head.   
“Whether you know it or not, you and I have long shared a likeness, Oracle.” Old habits died hard it seemed, “Perhaps we share the same vision in the end. We long for the same absolution. Refusing to allow Ramuh even momentary triumph may have also been… my own petty comeuppance, I suppose.” A knowing smirk graced divine features at that.  
“Ah– it might also have something to do of a little joke that may be lost on you. But perhaps when two are made one in covenant, does that not create a bit of a loophole for such leeway? By his covenant with you, I deemed him worthy of borrowing my strength– for the moment.” The second utterance of the word was laced with a bitter sarcasm, as though he meant to hint that he knew someone’s truer feelings on the matter. 

“What he and I are should be of little concern to you. At best he is a means to an end as he always has been.” Ardyn would do nothing to worship the impish, meddling fire Astral.   
“You forget what I was before I was cast out and called the plague-bringer, Accursed.” Another positively angelic smile, “I can smell the stench of _Eros_ coming off of you all the way from the Astral plane. Oh– oh… or is it just _him_? How terribly tragic…”

The title did not bring about a reaction as it had not for many centuries. It was worn as a mark of pride. Though coming from the lips of the fire deity there was something else here. Ifrit was after all made nearly as twisted as he. And Ifrit was the only one that he had spoken to at length over long centuries.   
“Your senses have been dulled over the years. He is but a man easily manipulated and starving for affection.” Ardyn would not give Ifrit the satisfaction of admitting whatever was blossoming in him now. No weakness to be revealed. Not even here in the aether. 

Or was Ifrit jealous that another had his attentions now? Dangerous. _Very dangerous_. 

“Is that so? I should go back to nest up on my mountain, yes? Not meddling in your affairs,” A bit of chagrin in his voice– as though to hint that he was this close to calling Ardyn ungrateful.

“The voracious really are a force to be reckoned with, Dear Ardyn.” He said softly and stepped around behind his fellow immortal, voice low and velvety. “Beware that they don’t pick your bones clean.”

And then a shrug, a toss of his mane of hair. “But you’ll never find a better fuck– those types.” A curl of his lips as he came back around. “Maybe I’ll have to step down and test him out myself, if you’ve no claim to make…”

Ifrit could call him ungrateful as much as he wished. He would be damned if he gave his appreciation for the god’s swift response in a rather tenuous circumstance whilst he was slumbering away one of his many deaths. 

They had played at this game for too many centuries for him not to know the steps and boundaries of the fiery Astral. Noctis, so far, was not as demanding as the god made him seem.

For all of the Accursed’s calm demeanor Ifrit’s words struck a chord. An ugly shrill one of possessive nature. A dance of avoiding words directly even if this god knew his true thoughts on the matter already. “He will be but a bore to a being such as yourself. Unable to provide you with adequate satisfaction.”   
By Eos-- _was he trying to protect Noctis_? Fuck. His mask nearly shattered at the thought. Nearly. 

At that, Ifrit clicked his tongue and settled, smoldering eyes looking over his ‘servant’ with a discerning gaze. He knew him well enough; could twist him just as well as Ardyn in turn twisted others. This was something new. The chosen was… supposed to be hated, though necessary means to an end. Nothing more than a tool. This was something else altogether, and he did not appreciate it one bit. 

“Oh beloved,” He said lowly, gaze suddenly sharp; baleful. “Anything that draws your eyes away from me is worth my interest.” A shrug as he stopped to face Ardyn head on once more. 

“Perhaps I’d love to see him writhe and scream just for the place he now holds. You would do the same, if you were me.” How he had fallen, and fallen– the millennia did no justice for his unearthly obsession with Ardyn Lucis Caelum. 

Willing to do anything to keep him with him for eternity, even spread an evil plague to the world of man–   
“Shall we see?” A peel of laughter; nails on chalkboard. “Ah, but I jest. You know that, right? I’d never hurt you, precious one.” He absolutely did not- the literal fire in his eyes made it clear. 

The thought alone of Noctis being made to bow and cower underneath Ifrit while the god had his way with him? It was enough to turn Ardyn’s blood to hot fire. Only by careful self control did he not pull a weapon from the Armiger's sub-space and run Ifrit through. What little good it would do him. He loathed to admit that he needed Noctis to truly end the Astral’s miserable existence and a covenant he had yet to be able to break.

But Ardyn was the center of the god’s obsession, unwilling to allow such a delightful servant release from his bonds. If there was one being that gave Ardyn pause it was the one standing before him. And now… he had a weakness to exploit. Ifrit knew it. 

Rage. Conflicted. The god knew the buttons to press now. A grip into his psyche: this the very reason Ardyn had not allowed himself to become attached to anything at all over the years. 

“No. Why would you ever have need to hurt me?” All he could do was offer himself as shield for what he deemed his. His hand reached over to brush against heated cheek. “You have always had my attentions. My bond with you yet unbroken.” If he could sway him away from Noctis with himself… maybe. 

But this would be admitting… No it was nothing more than to keep his fragile alliance with the Chosen intact. Ifrit… could destroy him. 

The threat in the god's eyes remained, but the touch from his darling assuaged some of his rage. Ifrit knew how to play him, a mortal meant to serve that his machinations had made… so much more. The scourge was a lucky accident, and it had made Ardyn so much more beautiful. Utterly stunning. 

“You are at least, ever graceful in accepting my many gifts to you,” A low chuckle that bared his sharp, white teeth.

Ifrit moved in closer to capture his favored servant’s mouth in a rough, heated kiss– ah, how useful this human form that his now dead sister favored had turned out to be! Now was not the time to take what he wanted, but he would have his small taste of victory. 

“I do not doubt you. I suppose I can stay my anger for now. The chosen serves you as you serve me. Do not forget that,” It was the promise that he could take it away– oh, if only he realized how close Noctis was to cutting those chains Ardyn wore forever–

“I will come seeking you soon enough. Now go back to the realm of Eos. Continue your reign of slaughter. I am… cheering you on, of course.” Ifrit tittered a laugh and backed away then, his form vanishing in a searing pillar of flame. 

"Don't forget my warning, Ardyn." His voice echoed out one last time, leaving the Accursed to pull himself back to the mortal side of the veil, where his task awaited him. 

It was as easy as falling asleep, but far more of a struggle to wake. Ardyn had no sense of time. How long had he laid in the mud before his body was healed enough for awareness to settle in again. Clothes had soaked entirely through. At least the Daemons were courteous enough to repair his clothing. How generous. 

Breathing was still shaky and tight as wounds were not entirely healed. Ribs and sternum still broken and cracked. Not so generous to bring him back to a body still so fragile and delicate. As awareness crept back he realized he did not entirely lay upon the ground, but a body below his. Noctis. He was certain. 

One arm still obeyed his commands as amber eyes opened to the world before pushing himself to turn onto his side. Sharp pain raced through his battered body, but he ignored it. His companion seemed in little better shape than he, but there was rain no longer. The Chosen must have used the last of his strength vanquishing the thunder god. A hand reached over to cup the young King's cheek. 

“Noctis… Noctis..” He called out in punctuated rasps wondering if his companion had yet returned to the land of the living. 

Too concerned with how vulnerable they were now to note the burnt smell of ozone that lingered in the air. 

The grip of death was terrifying– it was an empty nothingness that he couldn’t flee from. It became even worse when he was sure he could feel the Draconian’s baleful gaze on him– silent in its judgment. He would face him in time, but now was not that moment– Noctis fought and struggled, and somewhere in that dark swirling mess, he heard his name softly called. 

He felt like he was breathing fire. His lungs, ashen– as though the power of the crystal had burned him from the inside out. He wheezed and rasped, feeling suddenly very cold. Filthy. Soaked to the bone. The state of his skin was pure agony, and he found himself wondering how his father and the Glaives had sustained such wounds so regularly with any sort of sanity intact. 

Maybe they hadn’t. 

Noctis gasped again, gulping for air as his mind tried to repair itself, the light of the crystal shimmering in the cracks of his skin as he tried to move. It was slow, it was agonizing, but he finally managed to sit up a bit and blink. There before him was the familiar wine colored mane, blurry but recognizable even in this mess. Darkened by the blackened rain, it was still that head of lovely curls. The fact that he could think about that now nearly made him laugh, but he was in too much pain. He pushed forward until shaking hands, still healing with light could grip Ardyn’s shoulders– 

And then jolted back with a gasp. He peeled himself away from any physical contact as his bearings returned and stared at the Accursed. _He was darkness incarnate_. In this state, with the crystal’s light trying to heal him, his very touch could hurt him, and they were both of them already trying to heal. The darkness that seeped from Ardyn’s wounds no longer phased him. He half wanted to reach out and gently wipe it away. 

This had– been far more trying than anything they had yet to do and now they were both weakened. He didn’t want to do any worse, even if they were all but flailing about in the mud. –What he wouldn’t give for a real bath, something warm– anything but this miserable existence they had relegated themselves to. 

But… it was right, wasn’t it? They were fighting to free mankind– and wherever they fought, the Daemons fled– the light of the gods and the holy light of the crystal at least offering that much solace. What more could be done? He shook himself a bit and then tried to pry himself out of the mud. 

“The light is– I don’t want to hurt you,” He managed in a low rasp. Noctis looked back the way they’d come and swallowed with some difficulty. 

“Let’s… get back… if we can? Take it slow.” He offered gently.

This time Ardyn would be unable to offer Noctis his healing light. Body far too strained and on the brink to afford halting the Daemons' progress in mending flesh to be whole again. His hand burned from where his touch had lingered on his companion to rouse him. It was nothing compared to other agonies his body so kindly reminded him of. 

Touching though, that the Chosen would not wish to cause him more pain. He'd have wished to laugh if breath were not so limited.

Lips felt warm; almost burnt. His mind caught up slowly to the conversation Ifrit had called him to while he floated in the abyss where only the gods could reach him. The damn Infernian had come to their aid. Ardyn was no fool. Ifrit’s aid always came with a price, and now… as memories filtered back through… the god had leverage. The Accursed was attached to something non-material. Ardyn now possessed a toy of value to him. 

Ifrit had threatened to tear Noctis apart, and Noctis too insecure would fall right into the deity’s clutches-- possibly eliminating what hope he had to see their darkest scheme through. Never. Even if he despised the thought, Ardyn had to keep the King of Kings from such a relentless, unmerciful, twisted being. Some solace remained in that Noctis did not yet possess a covenant with him. A contract that would bind and compel him to come at the behest of a jealous, possessive god. The Chosen belonged to him. None of the gods would be allowed him, not even vengeful Ifrit. 

With mud still seeping into oversaturated clothes, the fallen king pushed himself up to sit with a great struggle and effort. Breath caught and rattled from a coil all too eager to remind him of how poor of a decision this was, but remaining here even worse. Words trying to form dying in his mouth. Only the inhuman sounds of a monster brought forth. Right. Daemons. How could he allow himself to forget with the mark of their ichor trailing from wounds and his eyes in a macabre painting upon flesh; rendering speech more effort than it should otherwise be. 

A nod of understanding would have to do. Later when the Daemons weren’t scrambling to mend broken form he would confront Noctis about summoning that damnable god ever again. He’d rather they die three times over before allowing such a foolish mistake again. 

Even longer did it take for him to rise to his feet nearly losing a usually graceful balance as abused legs threatened to buckle. His movements were slow as he started in the direction of the outpost. The world may as well having to ask him to walk to Gralea for how agonizingly slow their pace was. 

A part of Noctis couldn’t help but wonder– did Ardyn think himself ugly when he was like this? He found a strange sort of otherworldly beauty in it. It was frightening– he could sense the Daemons writing beneath the surface, but he also found that perhaps Daemons weren’t the worst things in this world. They didn’t choose to be what they were, after all. 

His heart all but shattered when Ardyn struggled to speak and then decided to say nothing. It hurt him more that it was several long moments before he could reach out and help him for fear of hurting him worse. Only when Noctis was certain that the crystal’s light was no longer seeping through his broken skin did he move in and offer his weight against the fallen one’s side, his arm around his waist. 

The path was long, their pace slow as they trudged through the mud. But Noctis found comfort in the presence against him. The adrenaline of battle solidified the bond that he felt with the immortal. His heart ached for him, even though he understood that there was little if any goodness or light left in Ardyn. The least he could do was be there to help silence his Daemons. 

Aid given that Ardyn almost pushed away from. The Immortal having spent too long in making it on his own to admit when he needed help. Stubborn to his own detriment even when he was mortal. He allowed Noctis this if only for the lack of fuss it brought and a reluctance to admit they would be far slower had he not. 

“Wonder if… going into Lestallum would be suicidal.” He muttered lowly. “I’d kill for a hot bath.” 

He didn’t want or expect an answer, only to keep them focused on the task at hand. And he nearly stumbled when he stopped abruptly, the sound of what he could only assume was one of those ugly naga creatures slithering through the strand of trees to their right. He immediately drew a blade from the Armiger and put himself between it and Ardyn. They were both still healing, but he had a feeling that Ardyn’s internal damage was worse and far more painful. 

He wouldn’t have him hurt again when he was already suffering. 

Noctis paused and thought twice, then returned the blade in exchange for an enchanted ampoule he’d been saving. He paused and aimed carefully, hoping he could trust his senses in the dark-- and the beast exploded with a burst of electric light, hopefully a heavy enough hit to destroy it or at least pave the way for their escape. 

Ardyn all but lost his balance when they came to a sudden stop. Of all things Noctis was the one attempting to protect _him_. How fickle and funny the fates were. A gurgle of a sound like he was attempting a laugh choked off by black blood stuck in his chest. Body still broken and protesting movement, the Accursed was ready to draw blade and fight. What was another death? The naga would be taken down with him until Noctis threw captured spell at their would-be murderer. 

“Hold onto me.” The command was soft, insistent– and he re-summoned the blade from before only to toss it through the air and drag them both into a somewhat graceless warp that sent more of those ugly burn marks spiraling up his arm.

Chosen bent on escape and withdraw Ardyn did as he bade for once, and wrapped his arms around Noctis’ waist before both of them were thrust away from the vile creature and its dying screeches. 

The Daemons writhed and squirmed at the light on Noctis’ arm, forcing Ardyn to release him upon their impact. He fell to his knees, balance lost and coughed until more of the ichor escaped from his lips. Any assistance, if offered, to help him to his feet was disregarded forcing his way under his own strength. The outpost was within sight. Would have been far easier if Noctis had allowed the creature to kill him. Maybe the next revival his body would not be quite so useless. 

“We’re… almost there.” 

Steps brought agony anew to Ardyn, but the sounds were repressed. Lifetimes of learning not to reveal one’s weaknesses. Pain and he were old friends. How many times now had at least one of the Astrals struck him down when the mood fancied him to seek them out? A futile effort to end them on his own finally coming to fruition with a Chosen King he now guided as his dark Oracle. 

 

A creeping thought that his early return was but the doing of the Infernian. His cruelty and trickery were as vast and depraved as his own. 

When the caravan was finally within reach, Ardyn all but fell onto the couch. “I do not… require your aid..” More racking coughs followed by more black blood. At least his voice was returning to him, edged in a tone not altogether human, but still Ardyn. “You are well aware… that this will fade… by then another bath… would not be remiss.” Another cough as his mind recalled with apprehension. “You summoned… _him_.” 

Glad to be out of the elements, Noctis almost immediately fought his way free of his muddied shoes, cloak, and jacket– the faster to at least get dried out. They should be washed at least by hand, rinsed– but he hadn’t the strength and he wanted to be by Ardyn’s side. 

The camper’s floor was stained with the mud and blood from their fight. The next occupants would have to not be a picky lot on the state of their accommodations. 

 

Noctis fell there near the pull out where Ardyn had collapsed, his knees digging into the thin carpet in the center area as he braced his hands on the edge of the couch. They were at least, safe from the other two for the moment– Bahamut deigning to remain in his crystal and Leviathan unable to appear save for near the sea. He hoped that the Slough was not tempting enough for her to attempt… 

Not yet. 

And he assumed so naively that they had the Infernian’s help. 

“Yes,” He said, voice rough. “It was… magnificent. I had no idea he’d be like that!” He’d expected something more ghastly– but Ifrit was angelic in the same way that Shiva had been.

“We’d have been ground into the dirt if he hadn’t. Maybe even sealed away, knowing Ramuh’s power.” He only had hints of it but– the judge had to have had a place to send those he deemed deserving of punishment. 

So naive to a fault. Had it not been what had sparked that silly notion in Noctis’ head to seek out his comfort and guidance? Aside from the obvious shared goal they both now possessed, of course. That naivety would lead Noctis right into the arms of an even more unforgiving immortal monster, but this one bore the face of a god. Anger rose up to grip onto Ardyn’s usually calm psyche. Nothing was beautiful about Ifrit. Nothing.

The Chosen would need to be kept far away from him. The Infernian seemed far too interested as it stood with Noctis. A weakness that the god now could lord over him. Rage drove back the pain and ails of a broken body. Strength to sit up and address his companion properly was found-- if he was not trying to care for him like a helpless child. Gritted teeth as the Accursed reminded himself the berating could come when his voice was more his own. More in control. 

Noctis was tired, but giddy, and he found himself looking down at the lightning pattern scars quickly forming on his hands. Perhaps, he was ending up marked like his father– like Nyx Ulric had been. He then turned his attention to Ardyn and sighed softly. He was suffering, but Noctis wasn’t entirely sure if he knew anything he could do to help. 

“Wait–” He turned and reached up onto the little table where he’d dumped some of the supplies he’d found before, and infused a bottle of soda with what magic he could muster. These potions had gotten them all through some terrible things. He used to make them often. The light faded, though it sparkled within the contents. 

“Will… healing magic help or hurt? I– I want to help. And. Don’t tell me not to,” he complained.

If only his potion supply did not lie in broken vials useless to him now, healing could have been faster. There was little to be lost by plucking with delicate fingers the bottle Noctis offered even if Ardyn detested sodas. The worst that could happen? He would die. Again. The drink just as sickeningly sweet, but he forced himself to finish it. Tingling and the effects almost immediately felt. A disconcerting feeling of flesh mending faster along side the Daemons' dark power. The black ash started to lighten and fizzle out, effects visible as he appeared more sound. Body began to numb out as the Daemons retreated for a time. “You are too full of light magic for it to not cause harm. I would heal, but the low chattering would become far louder while you did.” 

But that was of little concern with his voice returned to him. He ached, but it could be ignored as Ardyn allowed his underlying rage to fuel him. Hand reached out to grasp Noctis’ chin. The young King's full and undivided attention required; touch rough and tight. 

“Do not be so naive as to summon the Infernian to your side again. Whatever strength he chooses on a whim to offer? Do _not_ take it. He holds no fondness for you or mankind. If the chance were to arise once more? You allow death to take us instead.” 

Eyes were sharp, demanding his words to be heeded. Tempted to take back the mark of his covenant, but Ifrit had hinted that he could still get to Noctis even if it were not within his possession. Most troubling. 

Noctis was his. Not the damn meddlesome god of fire’s. His grip tightened on the Chosen’s jaw, applying pressure before pressing their lips together roughly. Teeth nipped to leave lips bruised upon retreat. He cared little that they were both a mess or that he was smearing the black ichor on Noctis. The crystal’s light would not allow him to be tainted by such a small quantity. It would crush the minuscule darkness attempting to corrode it, but for the moment it pleased Ardyn greatly, this image of his darkness staining the King of Kings. A mark of his claim that Ifrit would not be allowed to have. 

The god had taken from, denied, and tortured him over millennia, but this was a line drawn. A promise Ardyn made silently to himself. Noctis would never belong to the Infernian. He would see to that.

If asked about it, the King of Kings would have insisted that he belonged to no one. That was not, however, evidenced by the obedient way in which he leaned into Ardyn’s touch. It no longer frightened or worried him; it meant that he was demanding to be heard; saying something of great importance– and Noctis was certainly not proven wrong. 

His first reaction was confusion. He’d been under the impression that the Infernian was somehow the grand rebel of the Astrals; that he may be their only ally– and had assumed that he and Ardyn were on close terms. Most of that it seemed, was his own mind grasping at straws. The gravity with which his partner now addressed him left him reeling a bit– the plague tainted kiss even more so. But he was, always terribly present when Ardyn took the initiative to seek contact with him. Noctis winced at the sharpness of it, the bitterness of the ichor in his mouth– but he followed Ardyn when he pulled away and draped his arms around his shoulders. Leaning forward on his knees, he passed his hands gently through the elder immortal’s hair as though to soothe and shush him. 

Whatever it was plaguing him now, it was not to be trifled with. 

Noctis fell quiet for a few moments, gaze locked with Ardyn’s as he gently laid him back against the cushions and ran his fingers through his hair, over the handsome curve of his jaw. 

“I’m not sure I understand, but– I’ll trust you. I…. didn’t even know I could summon him. I just–” He’d hated seeing Ardyn get pummeled so thoroughly, and when he couldn’t stand it a moment longer that soft voice had whispered to him. 

“I’m not sure we could’ve beat him without…” But he wouldn’t argue. Noctis shook his head. He wasn’t sure where he’d gone wrong but he realized quickly that he did not like displeasing Ardyn. He sighed softly and lowered his head a bit before giving a nod as though to say– all the same, I’ll do as you ask. 

Noctis pressed his lips to Ardyn’s cheek, to the corner of his mouth. He supposed it didn’t matter if he got the scourge on himself now– and all he wanted really was to seek and offer that comfort that he’d become rather accustomed to in Ardyn’s arms. 

“I’m with you to the end.” He promised softly, hands resting at Ardyn’s side to gently grip his hand. 

Comforting gestures that Ardyn knew he should not seek solace in, but those hands knew his weakness and fondness for having his hair mussed. Noctis was always such an affectionate creature, even to a monster that required none of it. Too tenderhearted for his own good. It would be his continued downfall. A latch that Ifrit could dig into and use to tear him away. As the god was likely to do to Ardyn now knowing the Accursed held some measure of fondness for his companion no matter how small. 

How long had Ifrit been watching their actions? Stalking them from the shadows waiting for an opportune moment to strike? Knowing the imp in a god’s skin it was since Noctis had come to him with the suggestion of bringing true death to the Six. 

He allowed Noctis this moment to seek out affections. If it kept the man complacent and held to convictions there was little harm even if Ifrit was watching in jealousy. Almost screamed when the Chosen tried to reason with him, but the man was learning. Obedience. Agree with his terms lest the monster inside come out to play. 

It was only habit that Ardyn returned the gesture by squeezing back. He had been a passionate man as a mortal, but now that passion was turned towards darker deeds and motives. 

To the end. Whatever that end may be though Ardyn wished for the world to fall apart at its seams as Bahamut fell. All would die including himself. “A wise decision.”

And for a while Ardyn allowed the quiet moment to pass between them extended; pulling Noctis to lay against him more firmly. Unsure if it was a gesture to further manipulate Noctis into staying with him or a gesture born to renew his conviction against Ifrit’s machinations. With Noctis’ warmth so close and the adrenaline from his anger waining the immortal started to realize how exhausted he still was. 

Idly, he stared at the Lichtenberg figures trailing up Noctis’ arm from its origin of the ring. Even as sleep beckoned him like a temptress, he refused to rest on this awful structure that tried to pass as a spare bed. He removed his hand from Noctis and pushed the Chosen up and off of him. 

“We will rest for a time before turning our gaze to Leviathan.” It was an absurd notion to get Noctis as far from Ravatogh as possible. Ifrit could follow them anyway, but pursuing him now? A fool’s errand. 

Fingers worked at wet garments to remove them and add to the growing pile of drying clothes. His hair a mess to be dealt with after the annoyance of a body demanding further sleep to heal. “Though I doubt we will be welcomed any where that a warm bath would lie. A fact I lament.” 

Leviathan next. Noctis couldn’t even bear to think of it in his current state, and he fell back to sit on his ankles as Ardyn struggled to get up and peel himself out of his clothing. The smell of ozone that clung to the Plague was acrid in the air but– he was more or less used to it now. It was almost oddly pleasant, like the smell of gasoline or paint was to some people. Now, it was something he associated with the only real companionship he still had; the only home he knew. 

It was always like this; since he’d left home. He had to fixate on the moment; the present. Find his place there. With Ardyn… he knew he was not necessarily safe, but he had learned that he wasn’t entirely bad either. There was still deep conflict– sometimes the images of him sinking that blade into Lunafreya’s stomach were inescapable, and he questioned what he was doing. Could someone capable of that be trusted? 

Noctis watched him disrobe and he knew that if he didn’t do the same and get some rest he’d regret it. Ramuh was no more, as was Titan. Duscae was free. 

He got to his feet with some effort and stripped down to lay his clothing out to dry. There was mud but– it’d be easier to rid of dry anyway. Noctis pulled the comforter off of the bed from where he’d left it and sank down onto the edge of the bed, pulling himself in close so that he could wrap them both up and stave off the chill of the dampness from the Fulgurian’s final storm. 

He sighed and pressed his cheek against Ardyn’s chest, a kind of warmth that he’d not realized he’d grown accustomed to and yet he had. 

Even as mediocre as it was the bed was all too welcomed. Ardyn all but sank into the mattress as he found his way to it. ‘Potion’ doing wonders in relieving him of the deepest agonies, but exhaustion and aches now lingered in their place. As he layed upon his back the favored position of this day as to not aggravate sore, bruised ribs. 

He did not have to wait long before a familiar warmth pressed and snuggled against him. A ritual and routine that the immortal was just beginning to accept as the norm. It posed him no harm as Noctis was careful and only sought out the comfort of another presence near. The Chosen positively attached to his side since the hard fought battle with the now dead Fulgarian. Such an affectionate creature was this King of Kings. 

“Ardyn… There’s. Just one thing that’s been bothering me.”

He had to find a way to put it to rest. “Why did you… when Luna died. Why did you do it?” He asked slowly. 

Noctis had riddled it out many times since then. Maybe she was meddling in his plans too much; too dangerous to leave unchecked. Maybe it was just to make Noctis hate him more. Maybe… it was a mercy. Was what he’d been able to ascertain true? Had Luna been dying anyway, with no way to stop it? He wasn’t sure it’d make any difference but… 

His fears and uncertainties had to be put aside if they were to face the Hydrean again. 

Ardyn wrapped his arm still laced with grey streaks around with hand coming to rest upon a slender waist. Comforter pulled over both sealing them together. The added heat too welcomed in light of the final storm. Eyes half-lidded as the Accursed felt the tug of sleep attempting to drag him back into unconsciousness, but stalled as Noctis spoke. Voice so insecure and searching at his side seeking an understanding, and Ardyn forced himself to awareness to supply a response.   

 

Such a curious mind with a simple question. The answer would not be as easily forthcoming. Lunafreya’s death had always been a part of the plan to force Noctis to find his hatred in him so. Her meddling had not bothered him. She was a tool; useful and needed. Had he enjoyed watching as the life drained from her battered form? Of course Ardyn had. Her body had decorated the halls of the Citadel after all. 

“Oracles are a means to an end, Noct. Her life would have been cut short despite my early intervention on the matter. None live long. Their labors straining a mortal coil not meant to contain the darkness within.” His voice now husky out of the tiredness pulling at his mind. “The covenants… they demand much of the Oracle. The healing light comes at a price that Astrals never reveal. They whom can cure the afflicted by hosting the Scourge within themselves.” 

And he had been both Oracle and King doomed to failure, but the only reason he had been able to contain the Scourge and still yet live. The technicalities of being the longest lived of the Oracles even before immortality gripped his soul refusing to relinquish it to death. 

“Lady Lunafreya was a bastion you sought to cling to. I removed it in my efforts to drive you forward— to claim the Crystal’s power that you so reluctantly did not want. If you came to wish for my downfall in the process?... I could find pleasure in it.” 

There was no mercy in the action; a pure drive and motivation to see his dreams and scheming come to pass. Too tired and raw now to not give Noctis the truth even if he knew leaving it vague would have the Chosen draw his own naive conclusions. It was part of who Ardyn was- ever the manipulator even to those he held… something _more_ for. Whatever Noctis was becoming to him… he could no longer fool himself into believing pure spite motivated him anymore. A willing promise made to himself to bodily shield his companion from a jealous god. His arm tightened its hold and cheek laid against raven locks. 

_How he was falling… unsure if he could stop it._

He was, with time, beginning to understand that Ardyn had truly wanted him to hate him. Noctis wasn’t sure at first what that was about or how to make sense of it until he’d spent this time with him. There was a part of him that was positive that Ardyn was seeking oblivion. Originally, he’d thought that there had to be some desire to conquer everything, some textbook villain motivation– but it wasn’t that at all. Ardyn didn’t care if everything got destroyed along with him or not. He just wanted it all to be over; and to get some kind of vengeance on the line of kings that had aided in putting him in this place. 

The mistakes of Noctis’ own ancestors were blatant. Striking the story of someone like Ardyn Izunia from the annuls of history was a decision of hubris that he couldn’t understand. As it came about now, if only he had known– _if only he had known_ – but the Astrals didn’t mind hiding things. They just expected humanity’s trust. They demanded it, and it had lead to this. 

What Ardyn had done had been the wild machinations of a man desperate to end his own suffering, and regardless of his intentions, what he had done to Luna had been a mercy in and of itself. 

Noctis closed his eyes and pressed his face against the Accursed’s skin, a ragged sigh falling from parted lips. He had hurt. He had hurt deeply in that time from the time that they had faced Leviathan the first time onward. Watching the world decay, watching his friends suffer and fall apart– Everything that had come to pass in Gralea– Ravus– 

Just barely glancing over those things in his mind brought a tightness to his chest that he could barely breathe around. Ardyn had in a way, orchestrated nothing but pain and suffering for him ever since the prophecy had been spoken. He’d wanted him to suffer– but understanding why made it terribly hard to hate him. 

Why couldn’t there be another way? Why did they both have to suffer and die?  Noctis couldn’t understand it, and his resolution to destroy Bahamut in particular wound deeper in his chest. 

“You won’t go looking for my forgiveness, and I’m _not_ gonna forgive you.” He stated plainly. That wasn’t really a requirement for their arrangement, and somehow honestly– didn’t impact the strange bond he felt with Ardyn. 

Forgiveness was something Ardyn never sought. The words would mean little when Ardyn held no regrets in his actions or the consequences wrought upon the world. He had suffered as they would suffer. The line of Lucian kings his single minded focus with the gods formerly so out of reach for him to sufficiently destroy. Now though, Noctis had given a method to do such a thing. His attentions and rage now mostly focused on the first that had wronged him. 

When Noctis was younger, he couldn’t have understood nuances like that; the idea that hate and love could be so closely intertwined, so perfectly overlapping. Confusing one for the other even– His mind was too hazy to go much further. He just wound himself tighter around the older immortal and rested his palm against his chest, feeling the deep, slow thrum of his heartbeat.

It would take more than a simple gesture to remove that spite he held onto for two thousand years towards his brother’s line. It lingered beneath the surface, but was placated now by how easily Noctis gave into him. Though, it gave the immortal pause. Noctis clearly held no fear of him now. The keen hatred before the Crystal swallowed him into it’s light was now muted and hard to see in blue eyes. Would he lack the conviction at the end of their task to fulfill the wish Ardyn so longed for? Would the Chosen be able to take blade to him and end their struggles in a clash of blood and mutual destruction? 

Even as Noctis made it clear that he would forever hold the tortures placed upon him, the man still drew in closer to the shadows. Such a fine line they walked now. It would be so easy to summon any of his blades to his side. Make injury to the fallen Chosen, but Ardyn stayed his hand. The irony that the king prophesied to bring his end would be the one that gave him understanding. “I would never have need of it.” 

Before Ardyn could travel down the thoughts of what he now felt, the Accursed simply settled his cheek more firmly on Noctis’ hair. Allowing himself to welcome the temporary oblivion that sleep promised where the feelings and musings could torment him no longer. 

Such tenderness, after swearing his refusal to forgive the man– didn’t seem to phase Noctis at all as he nodded off into a deep sleep, the promise of what was to come too much to face for the moment.


	7. Misdirection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn and Noctis indulge in each other's company and discuss their next step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can these two assholes keep their hands off of each other? The answer is emphatically, no.

His waking to a warm body cuddling so close was becoming routine. A privilege he had only afforded to his sexual encounters of the night before, but this was Noctis. The King of Kings thrived on affections, and if it kept him loyal? It suited Ardyn. The smell of the rains and Eos tainted with the plague in the air invaded his senses from hair that acted as a soft pillow for him. 

Exhaustion and a body worn thin still persisted. Both of them would need days more to be fully prepared for the next god on their list. A task with a looming _flame_ over them that Ardyn had yet to figure out his scheming in all of this-- aside from the fervent wish to see his favored servant back at his side. 

The mere thought brought out a rage and uneasiness in the immortal’s mind. One that had him waking his companion in something other than the usual manner. He offered no words, just shifted them both so he could place marks upon the Chosen’s neck. Fingers dug into a slender waist hard enough that bruises would remain in their shape before roaming over a body he had started to memorize. No god would have hold of the King of Kings any longer. Ardyn would ruin him until even Ifrit’s gaze turned. 

Sleep came easily to him, for the exhaustion eating away at his mind and body. Noctis had known it well even when he was young. He’d been painted as terribly disinterested: some creature who was drunk on his family’s affluence and would rather sleep than pay mind to the responsibilities he would soon shoulder. Those close to the Caelum family though, only pitied him as the Crystal was so clearly taking its toll even in his youth. 

Noctis gave into fatigue easily with copious naps and as much self-care as he could manage, usually with the aid of his retainers (namely, Ignis and Prompto–) 

This new existence seemed to have given him only one source from which to seek that sort of thing now. Ardyn was there; his warmth and bitterness oddly sweet to Noctis. He could be on two ends of the spectrum at once, and it made him utterly addicting as he fought to reconcile the ungodly things he had done– to Luna, to his friends– 

He couldn’t put words to his desire for him; perhaps it was the simplest and most base of things. Noctis had always had a hidden desire to be broken; to be claimed in such a way that he had no doubt of someone’s desire for him and that was another desire that Ardyn fed in one way or another. 

Before he had even been pulled awake to consciousness, He had arched into the roughness of Ardyn’s mouth against his skin, soft little gasps of breath and whimpers– far less dignified than he’d usually tried to remain when he was coherent– punctuating his movements. Slowly, as fingers dug into his hip, dark lashes fluttered open and he stared stupidly for a moment into the mop of iridescent curls, still darkened to a drab auburn by the tainted rain they had both been soaked by the day before. 

It didn’t take long for him to realize what was happening and– in part, Noctis was almost relieved. There was a strange sort of satisfaction in being wanted in return by Ardyn. 

Another soft groan, utterance of his name; reverent on Noctis’ lips. His fingers passed affectionately through that thick hair and he shivered, a low husky– “Good morning,” all he made effort to voice. 

Words were rather far from his mind really, and it took virtually nothing to break through his defenses in that sleepy state, his body reacting in kind. His own hand wandered the curve of Ardyn’s back, more muscular than it looked under all those layers– and he shamelessly continued down to the curve of his rear, that lazy smirk still lingering on his features despite the fact that his partner was being all-out rough with him. 

If Ardyn had known all it took to easily bring forth those little gasps of pleasure was to wake Noctis in such a manner, he would have employed such tactics days ago. The Chosen had not those pesky doubts nor pride holding him back from giving in with a mind not yet awake enough for such things to grip and take hold. His Body responded so easily to Ardyn's ministrations. And those soft hands running along his spine in a silently urged the Accursed to continue what he started. Being the ever self-confident the former Chancellor was, he arched into the touch. 

He wondered just how pliable Noctis truly was like this. Ardyn was in little mood to be gentle with him. A baser instinct overriding his senses to bring this Chosen to his knees before him in fealty, in possessive carnal passions. 

Even without the purely carnal desires woken in him, Noctis was often kittenish and slow to fight when he’d first opened his eyes. It was just as hard to get him jump-started enough to get ready and out into the world– but in this particular situation, he was terribly pliable– and liked the attention more than he’d like to admit. 

A hum of agreement came from him at words given, unwilling to remove his mouth from marking territory that he thought of as his own. He was as just demanding if not more so than the fallen Chosen. Noctis had a that streak all too easily brought forth during their carnal acts. It pleased Ardyn greatly as he enjoyed receiving pleasurable pain just as much as he loved giving it to his partners. 

Hands roamed, gripping and teasing-- feeling out every inch of pale flesh beneath them that they could. And Ardyn listened and watched for every minute hitch in his partner’s breath. Every twitch of his skin mapping out where his companion’s weaknesses were. He responded well to not being treated like a delicate flower that would break. But Ardyn only once grabbed the hardened flesh between Noctis’ legs, not allowing him the satisfaction he so clearly wanted. 

No. The elder immortal had something else in mind. He sat up on his knees and forcibly dragged Noctis by upper arm up with him. His smirk mischievous— his features no less commanding. He wanted Noctis’ obedience right now, not that sweet rebellion. Far more easily given when the man in question was only recently awakened and with a body already responding to a lover’s attentions. 

Elegant fingers weaved in between raven locks, gripping tightly and none too gentle before forcing the Chosen King down to where he demanded his attention. Bringing Noctis down to his hardened cock. 

“If you would, your majesty.” The title said in the most mocking of fashions.

 

It was the hand twisting in his hair that jolted Noctis into some level of waking– and the rough grip dragging him up by the arm. His initial response was to snarl, though he knew not to fight the hand in his hair if he didn’t want more pain than he’d like. He nearly lost his balance, eyes narrowed and mood instantly turned to one of combative nature even as he felt the warmth of Ardyn’s very prominent _desire_ press against his cheek. 

Noctis balked and struggled for a moment more, the request– no– demand– issued grating on nerves already thin, and he found himself gripping muscled thighs to keep himself upright. There was no dignified way to face this, and fighting Ardyn harder than he needed to now well… it was not in his favor. It was with a sickening sort of sweetness ( syrup sliding down the back of your throat ) that he realized he’d sink even lower than this to keep Ardyn’s favor. 

The fight in his eyes was so delightful as he had pushed Noctis down where he wanted his attentions. All despite the pushy little lover that King of Kings typically was. The fingers digging into his thighs sent a pleasurable sensation through his body from the not so gentle treatment. So long as Noctis behaved through this and gave Ardyn what he wanted, then he might be in a mind to reward instead of punish. 

The King of Kings parted his lips, tongue brushing against the head before he dipped down, bracing himself for whatever demands the grip in his hair had in store for him. His eyes were sharp, burning holes into Ardyn as he moved– terribly obedient and focused in his ministrations. At that point, he was determined to see him come undone if he were to have to lower himself to such a thing at all. Nails dug in lightly into the Accursed's hips, dragging welts slowly down to his thighs as though that served as some kind of recompense. 

Of course, Ardyn wanted obedience. He wanted compliance. Noctis wanted the companionship he was desperate for in a time when it was ripped from him– and he could only get it by giving that hated submission. Noctis knew that he could take it like the best of them, but he would do so with all the fire of someone who had finally become master of his own fate. 

Lips tightened around the hard cock in his mouth, his soft features creased in concentration as he bobbed his head– tongue working in tandem to utterly destroy Ardyn’s carefully held faculties of composure. 

There was a light gasp and hitch of his breath as Ardyn finally felt that wet heat surrounding his needy flesh. “Good… very good. Noctis.” His hand content to merely linger knotting strands of hair between his fingers. Obviously he was not an inexperienced king in such matters, but the Accursed already knew that.

A husky moan tore from his lips as fingers gripped and dug down into his skin. The muscles of his abdomen twitched against the pleasure. Already he could sense the insistent scratching in his mind begin to settle and receed to blissful silence that was punctuated now only by the lewd sounds of Noctis trying to undo him, and the hitches of ragged breath drawn from him. 

If it was the Chosen’s intentions to see Ardyn fall apart he was well on his way to that. Pleasure drawn from the edge of pain and rougher treatment. Hips trembling every so often in the attempt to still and not thrust into those welcoming lips. Pupils had blown wide in lust and desire. Before, however, Noctis could bring him over that precipice, Ardyn used the leverage in his partner’s hair to force him to stop.

“Enough.” Voice little more than a growl. 

 

Noctis snarled softly when the hand in his hair stopped him, pulled him back and up into a messy kiss that turned into little more than a riot of tongue and teeth. 

Composure was shaken from that damn talented mouth that Ardyn next brought up into a heated kiss. He left him for but a moment to retrieve something suitable for his purposes from their supplies. He returned only to pull Noctis up to his knees on the bed, allowing hands to wander over the Chosen’s compact form. His mind debated between offering reward or further forcing his companion into submission. But could he not garner both by hanging the metaphorical carrot on a stick? 

Ardyn’s shifting and rummaging around went largely unnoticed, as Noctis busied himself with applying several sharp bites to Ardyn's shapely chest, pointedly leaving behind bruises where he could. Fingers pressing against and in left him frozen, gasping on his knees as he refused to fall apart in front of him– not like this. 

Fingers gripped in appreciation of his partner’s rear before roaming further in to tease and stretch him. Teeth nipped at Noctis’ ear and neck until Ardyn finally spoke, low and husky. A man that was consumed almost entirely by his desires and carnal wants. “And how does his majesty wish to be taken?” The question hung in the air as to whether or not the immortal would be kind enough to comply with such a request. 

Damnable wit and devious appetite for control was what marked everything Ardyn did. Noctis was weak to his demands if only because he knew that giving in could get him the same sort of reward. It was strange, he realized now with his heartbeat thrumming in his ears– that the voices usually assaulting him had gone all but silent. With the passing of three of the six, his head was clearer than it had ever been and his experience now– could focus purely on seeking pleasure rather than trying to drown out any noise. He supposed the opposite might be true for Ardyn. 

Without the power of the six in-tact, it was likely that the Daemons and the darkness itself trapped within him might be utterly overwhelming. Noctis supposed that as the king at his side, the least he could do was offer Ardyn the same escape that he himself had relied on for years. 

Noctis rather liked the idea of being able to hide his face. Deny the bastard some satisfaction while giving him another; the pleasure of taking the King of Light like some animal, rutting. 

There was a part of him that still screamed for escape every time they fell into their lust for each other, perhaps more driven by a desire to hurt than a desire to come together in any sense of the word– and he shoved it down once more as he languidly broke away only to crawl a little further away to settle on his hands and knees pointedly, no explanation given. 

“Good enough for you?” He asked lowly, arching his back and resting his cheek against a pillow as he gazed behind him through glassy eyes. 

The devious smile that broke across lust filled features spoke much of what Ardyn thought of this new position the king had taken up. The immortal feeling himself twitch in anticipation. Whether this was chosen out of spite or rebellion it drew him in. 

Hands now seeking to caress exposed thighs that were presented to him to take. The position allowed him to simply _be_ ; give into the most basic desires of his lust. It made it all that much harder for his partner to see what he was doing to them. Both of them allowed to simply relish in the sensations. A sharp, quick slap of appreciation to Noctis’ rear as he chuckled lowly. 

“Most perfect, Noct.”

Body shifted as Ardyn brought himself closer to where Noctis had perched upon the bed. Such a willing participant in their shared lust whatever the Chosen’s reasons were. Really a part of Ardyn used this as an escape from his head, allowing himself to forget everything crammed into too small of a vessel. All of it put out of mind. Right here was all that mattered in shared pleasures and heated flesh. 

Hips pulled back with one hand as the Accursed entered and held Noctis in place for a few moments. Necessary to revel in the feeling of completely giving up all else in his nature but this. A ragged breath tore from his lips before he began moving in a rough, but slow pace. Fingers dug into his partner’s back, dragging down along the length in appreciation of his body. Though lithe, the King of Kings was not unattractive by any means. 

Noctis wasn’t surprised when Ardyn expressed satisfaction. It was by most people, considered to be a rather degrading position. Noctis had never been one to spend much time thinking about that though, even when he was younger and even more stubborn. He folded his arms beneath his head, clutching a pillow to steel himself and let out a slow, long groan as Ardyn sank into him. 

It was, of course a very different experience from the more closed off positions they’d taken in previous romps. Something like this, in Noctis’ mind took a modicum more of trust. He would’ve argued with that if the question had been posed directly– but it was there. It was what had them focused on the same path. 

He shook slightly as he tried to adjust and relax but honestly– the sharpness of the sensations and the pain– they were just as sweet. The softly uttered praise dropped upon him by Ardyn’s velvet voice were enough to make him twitch with want, and by the time his hand found him his hips gave away just how much he was enjoying himself by their search for friction. Noctis could be greedy, though that seemingly went without question. 

 

Ardyn did not need to see the king’s face to know the effect this act had upon him. His body told the immortal all he needed to know. Leaning over him to bite new marks into his shoulders as they rutted together in abandonment, his husky voice whispered into the King's ear. “Simply lovely, my dear Noct.” 

A hand reached underneath and between Noctis' thighs to take hardened flesh between his fingers stroking his partner in a languid pace. His words were not as steady as normal, and it was telling. Whatever Noctis had done to get him there clearly had a better effect on how quickly Ardyn could be undone, and the Accursed gave his moans more freely than before. 

At first, he tried to muffle his own cries– but it only took him a few minutes to start to come undone. Was he meant to return the favor? Those soft words of praise were always stained with mockery– 

A string of curses tore from his lips at the sensation of Ardyn’s teeth biting into his skin, and he decided he had the answer just fine on his own–

“Harder, damn it–” Noctis had never made any secret of his desires. He showed his demand in snapping his hips back a little more sharply, arching his back as he moved with him. 

This unholy joyride wasn’t over, and the thought of rest– of losing himself in Ardyn for a few days was more than welcoming. He could hold his hate and his vitriol in his chest right next to the compassion that screamed at him to do anything he could to save this man who did not deserve what the Astrals had done to him. 

“Come on, fuck me like you mean it– I know how you _really_ feel.” It was dripping with sarcasm meant to further inflame Ardyn’s masked rage. 

Few lovers of Ardyn’s ever stuck around long enough to figure out what buttons demanded pressing to bring out the most lustful and carnal parts of his desires. Only the most experienced of them were allowed to take on that full animalistic side of himself. It demanded much of his partner in question that they would not break in the process too quickly. Spoil his fun before he had reached that pinnacle himself. 

All in all, Noctis was far sharper, far more resourceful than the average person realized. It was easy to pass him off as bratty, as a empty headed even for a day-dreamer– but the truth of the matter was that he was quiet enough to latch onto hard-to-see details. Even Ardyn’s impenetrable psyche wasn’t entirely safe from his perceptive nature. 

To some point, he found he was really starting to enjoy this game– this cat and mouse. There was a sense of challenge that he wasn’t used to with lovers. It kept him focused; on his toes. Dragged him into Ardyn as though he were the one with the gravity of a black hole, rather than Noctis himself. 

Noctis in all his pressing demeanor knew how to trigger that part of his broken psyche. The Fallen would gladly indulge in it here and now. The Chosen King could handle the roughness and pain that came along with spurring such darker sides of Ardyn’s sexual nature. Hands shifted down lower gripping tight on slender hips. Nails dug into flesh hard enough to almost _break_. Hips snapped forward with great force to meet up with Noctis’ own insistent movements. 

The pace now set brutal as the Accursed strived to place all of his weight into each deep, punishing thrust into his lover. Pants of ragged breath turned into growls. Noctis would be made sore, that he would see to- an ache that would last for some time after they were sated in their lusts. Ardyn allowed all of his hate and passion into his motions in attempts to _break_ the King of Kings. 

The bite of pain mingled with pleasure left Noctis trembling– shaking under the weight of Ardyn’s monstrous strength. There was no longer any hope of keeping composure or any dignity; there was only the sound of their bodies clashing and Noctis’ ragged cries. 

Rhythm now messy and pace shattering as Ardyn allowed one hand to quickly reach and intermingle with raven locks, but there was no tenderness to be had in him anymore. Strands were pulled into a tight grip and yanked up, forcing Noctis further into his arch. He would not release him no matter how painful the action may become. The King's gasps and cries simply provided music to the immortal’s ears. 

And the thought of days spent making the King of Kings ache and pained in the aftermath of their couplings brought the most exquisite of joys to Ardyn. By Eos did that pleasure bring blissful silence to an overcrowded mind. 

The hand twisting in Noctis' hair, forcing him to arch up further drew out a keening, animal yelp from him– but he didn’t stop. He was a slave to the motion between them, the knowledge that he was _in some way_ offering Ardyn a form of salvation; a way to drown out the Daemons as well as giving into them. It was a dark kind of healing; a farce of the real thing, but he’d take it all the same. 

“I will bring you to remember this for days to come. “ He taunted through hitched breaths. “Unable to move without a reminder of what you so readily gave into.” Fingers clinched hard in Noctis’ hair. “Perfect.” He breathed out taking in the sight of his lover coming apart beneath his ministrations. 

“–feels so good–” Noctis wasn’t one to chatter or lump on sickly sweet praise like his partner, but in the heat of the moment even he could let slip a few utterances–

And heated it was. Noctis memorized the feeling of Ardyn’s nails biting into his skin and reached down to caress the hand stroking him in time with their bodies’ wild rhythm. The prickling of his scalp brought tears to his eyes, involuntary– signs of how overwhelming the sensations were. Noctis could barely hold himself together, a mess of sweat-slicked skin and noises– oh the noises– that he normally would never let anyone close enough to discover hidden within him. 

His release was close at hand, but he knew better than to defy Ardyn. It took some swallowing of a great deal of pride but finally he spoke again, breathless and trembling: “I… Please. I’m– s-so close–” 

Such sweetness bestowed upon him as Noctis began to come apart at the very seams underneath him. So few had captured Ardyn’s attention so thoroughly either outside his carnal pleasures or within. Both of them relished the pain that came alongside the pleasure. Such a beautiful pair they made here and now. One would almost not be able to recognize him as sometimes bitter rivals. 

As if to cement Ardyn’s growing desire to claim Noctis again and again as his lover, the King of Kings was now begging him for release without further prompting. A grin spread across devilish features in delight. A well trained toy Noctis had become. Perfect. _Beautifully_ perfect. Broken in and catering to the Accursed’s desires and whims; the best kind of lover. The thought alone tore a ragged, husky groan from Ardyn's lips and his hips snapped hard at the revelation burying himself a beat longer before resuming the previously set pace. 

Eyes long blown wide in lust stared down at this lovely creature he was ravishing. “Good boy.” The praise fell so easily. “Do not hold yourself back, my dear.” 

Permission was granted and his hand released the tightening grip so Noctis could more freely allow himself to fall off that edge. Stroking and giving the tip of his cock most of his attentions to encourage it. A bit of his nail digging in, but not enough to harm a most sensitive of areas. 

Relief came, as Ardyn gave his permission rather than holding back as he very well could have. Ardyn could have been cruel, had been in his own ways– but now, it seemed that they only cared for the brief release from their yolks of suffering ; which was something they could now find together, in tandem.   
Noctis had begged before in his insecurity, to be filled with Ardyn’s darkness until the Astrals could no longer look upon him as their chosen one. It was his vengeance; the only way he had ever taken control of his own body and desires– taken them away from the gods. No longer would he be their pawn– he searched only for the fulfillment of his own selfish desires.   
As Ardyn felt the man beneath starting to quiver in his release, he too chased after him. Movements had not slowed as he brought himself to completion in that tight, trembling heat Noctis so willingly gave. Fingers tightened their grip in raven hair as he moaned; a broken sound of his companion’s name torn from him in a moment of exquisite pleasure so sudden and unexpected he had not noticed it forming on his lips. 

And fulfilled, they were– A muddled, breathy sound that might have been Ardyn’s name fell from his lips as he peaked. His release dripped over the Accursed’s fingers as he trembled and muscles tightened. For long moments, everything snapped to white even as he was dragged back against the broad chest of the forgotten king. 

Hand shifted from the mess the Chosen had made of it to hold his hips in place while he finished. Hair now used as leverage to bring Noctis up to lean back against his chest so that he sat in Ardyn’s lap as they fought to catch their breath. Barely given reprieve before Noctis was shifted by his neck to be given a most deep, claiming kiss by the Accursed. 

Soft mewls were muffled by the kiss lavished on his parted lips as Noctis struggled to steady himself and even out his breathing;  trembled at the fullness and heat inside of him as he settled into Ardyn’s lap. He had had quite a bit of defiance in him once before, but the simple understanding that they had reached had washed away much of it. 

This connection, physical and carnal as it was– was terribly intimate. And Noctis was as ever, a mess of his own desires. Seated as he was, it was nearly impossible to keep still.   
“Ardyn– you always want more,” It came out as a soft purr, not an accusation. As time passed, he came to admire and envy Ardyn’s selfishness; his demanding nature. Noctis had never been granted such a luxury. He had always been the one who would give all for the world. He leaned back and nipped at Ardyn’s lips, a soft, lazy grin on his features. 

When the world had abandoned him to his darkness, and in exile Ardyn had readily tossed aside his previous altruistic desires in favor of the more base selfish ones. He had kept them at bay most of his life sacrificing bits and pieces of himself until there was nothing left. So easy to cease caring for others when they had stopped caring for you. Had everyone in his past not abandoned him to his fate? Even the gods who had set to imprison him for ages awaiting the time the Chosen would come to deliver him from this world.   
But now that hope was here in his arms terribly broken in as much as he could be. Noctis would always rebel, but he was learning when the act was appropriate around Ardyn; a most important detail lost by many. He hummed in agreement in a calmer mood when the Daemons where silenced in the aftermath of adrenaline and endorphins still coursing through his system. 

“More of what I wonder?” His hand still a mess by his partner’s doing; he brought up to lick the pearly white substance from it. 

“Of this?” Teeth lightly pressed into Noctis’ neck and a short shove of his hips against an oversensitive body. “Of a world further twisted up?” A sharp, demanding tug on Noctis’ hair. “Of your pain and suffering?” A beat. “A mystery.” He would have it all along with the sweetest additions of the gods falling into non-existence. Almost too good of a fate for them. Each of them should have been made to live in a prison instead. One of which there would be no escape and more importantly no hope. Though, their deaths would satisfy him enough. 

Breath flowing back into normal rhythm Ardyn finally eased himself out of Noctis’ warm body. His lusts and wish to reassert his claim sated, he turned to other pursuits. A bath. The Slough was not far. They were not in form to take on another god, but the Daemons that prowled outside would pose little threat.

“Come. The Fulgurian’s final storm has left us quite unsightly. I dare not spend another moment more in such a state.” Spoiled fallen king.

Noctis would not have a choice given if he would follow or not. He dared not leave the Chosen alone with the Infernian’s sights upon them. 

The walk would likely result in early termination of the quietened Daemons; undoing this last act of carnal pleasure. However, Ardyn refused to allow the feeling of hair matted and coated in the dried, liquid plague to continue for much longer. 

Noctis' head was still spinning, the ache and sting of marks left on his skin something that he’d continue to wear with pride for days to come– though they were truly only for him to see after all. Noctis from time to time could even forget that they were in a world purged from all that was; it was as though they were their own universe, untouchable by anything and anyone. There were times when Noctis longed for the warmth and familiarity of his friends, but in time, Ardyn was getting what he wanted. 

Noctis thought of nothing but him, and of **vengeance** and the promise of an end to all of this madness. 

Really, they should do what they could for their clothes too– 

Stretching tentatively, Noctis raided the in-cabin bathroom for toiletries and towels. He was if nothing else, ever resourceful. Their time spent on the road had really changed him in that sense, and made him learn how to at least on some levels, survive while seeking the comforts of home that he had once known. 

In his arms, he carried what he’d found and draped himself in the comforter from the bed like some ungainly cloak. Ardyn likely cared far less about hiding his nakedness– there was no one to see it, after all– But Noctis was still rather self conscious. After all of the ruckus they’d made the day before, even the larger Daemons dare not come close. They knew exactly what they were, or at least Noctis felt like they must. 

At the end of the dock where Gentiana had tried to reason with him, he laid the comforter out along with the soaps and towels before he slipped into the water. It was frigid without the sun to warm it, but he got used to it relatively quickly. 

“I’d kill for a hot bath,” He commented as he watched his companion as best as he could in the darkness. --Arguably, he might kill for less.  
Ardyn lamented that his small livable area of Costlemark was most likely no longer livable at all. It had provided all of the necessary features they would need right now including a way to launder their filthy clothing. Maybe a trip back to the Citadel would not be remiss. Ardyn had planned a little ahead. His car did hold a change or two of garments, but his companion would not have such luck. 

A wicked thought crossed his mind of Noctis forced to fight the gods in nothing more than tattered rags with eyes crazed and glowing in neon light as they stood before Bahamut. The image of the King of Kings fallen from his highest perch would be full and complete. He could rot in the darkness of the abyss with the one they deemed Accursed. --Though it left Ardyn’s thoughts to wander… could Noctis still be brought to end his existence? Doubts lingered now in the Immortal’s mind. The Chosen was coming to care for him _of all things_. Plans could be revised to fit the new situation, for he knew that love and hate were but the thinnest of lines. 

Arms carried his clothing, but he remained bare unlike Noctis. Advertising marks of their most recent union though far fewer in number to his companion. Terrible, wonderful urge to inflict more. 

A mental picture of allowing Noctis to enter into Lestallum and perhaps seek out his friends while in such a state with bruises and bites showing where his clothing could not hide them, amused him. Allow them to see how broken and fallen he had become. 

Ah, and there was the scratching returning. Too much to ask that the Daemons leave him alone with his mental ramblings for precious moments longer. 

Warm bath. A sentiment they both could agree upon. Unfortunate that his control of magic could not gently heat up the waters of the Slough instead sending out a raging inferno. It would be so unfortunate to lose their supply of fresh fish so quickly. 

“The Citadel lies a bit too far from our destination now, your majesty. Time wasted even if a hot bath awaited us both at its end.” 

Waters were frigid, but Ardyn cared little. His hair needed tending to; stealing from the supplies Noctis so wisely bought to start his labors upon the task. “Lestallum may not yet be out of our reach for you, at least.” A pause as he lathered red-violet locks. “I must wonder how they will look upon you now. A prophesied savior fallen into the graces—“ A dark chuckle. “—and _bed_ of the Accursed king of this World of Ruin. None too favorably I would say.” 

Even after barbed words meant to hurt and manipulate as was his nature Ardyn lowered himself in the water and captured one of Noctis’ hands to aid in the cleansing of his hair. A demanding king, Ardyn still remained at his core. 

He chuckled as Ardyn pulled him closer and directed his hands. Ah yes, always a king of old still expecting servants and attendants where there were none. Noctis didn’t mind. It was actually oddly pleasant– somewhat intimate. And seeking out his warmth in the chilly water wasn’t unpleasant either. 

A pleasure Ardyn would afford himself in _liking_ those roaming fingers in his scalp. The lather quickly turned grey in the onslaught of the Scourge it picked up. Hew as without a doubt pleased that the Chosen was able and willing to obey his requests now. 

Noctis hummed as he massaged soap into the Accursed’s scalp. Their existence had become something of a strange fever dream that lovers in the gilded past might have had. It was a strange, isolated world that they made for themselves– and it was in a way what they had set out to do. Together, they would purge this world the gods had tainted and in the end, they would disappear with it. Insomnian culture had always romanticized death in its many incarnations, highest prized perhaps the idea of lovers who _chose to die together_. 

“What, are you against disguise?” It wouldn’t be that hard to mask Ardyn’s appearance. Surely the place was so crowded now that a couple of “hunters” passing through wouldn’t pose much of an issue. 

“We could pass unnoticed, I’m sure. Or did you wreak more havoc in my absence than I know about?” He teased gently. “We could pass away plenty of time there, probably. Live it up a bit. Forget all of this dying business and live just a little more before the end.” He suggested. 

Noctis wanted to know Ardyn. Not the darkness, not the schemes– but what made him who he was. He wanted to see him laugh. He wanted to have these things in his heart when they chose to end it all. 

“I’m not afraid of that part you know. The end.” He didn’t want Ardyn to think that he was chickening out or turning away from their inevitable goal. 

A small smile brought about by the teasing almost unseen in the dark of the night crept onto Ardyn's face. A strange sort of acceptance that no matter what Ardyn would always fall into his maniac, destructive tendencies. 

“I may have made new acquaintances in your decade of absence.” Insomnia could grow so dull after a while, and there was always the would-be stray Hunter that fashioned themselves a hero. If the mood took him, Ardyn would toy with them before ultimately ending their wretched existence. Lestallum as a whole, though he had left untouched.  
But was it so wise to bring him into the heart of a rare bastion of civilization? Noctis was placing a lot of trust on him not to inflict more harm upon the residents. A small click of his tongue. “If you must. We have some time afforded to us now before the Hydrean.” Ardyn felt he had ‘lived it up’ quite enough. So many things he had tried in two thousand years just to stave off the ennui that threatened to settle in. Noctis was so terribly _young_ in comparison-- and far less tired. 

“Accepted your inevitable demise, Noct?” Because they both knew the only way either of them would ever die now was by each other’s hands. The King of Kings had been the one Ardyn waited ages for. The ultimate revenge and end to the Lucian Royal blood where all of their hopes and dreams had been placed upon… and almost as important: his chance to end himself. 

Ardyn had been prepared to die to receive his own ascension, but it had been denied to him. The mere thought rattled his mind and turned his mood sour.   
“Our blades will need to turn against one another after the Draconian falls. Then your **wretched** family line will come to an end.” The last of his words dripped in venom and malice. He wondered at the beauty to be had in seeing Izunia’s sword sink into Noctis’ flesh, treacherous line of the brother that had all but ended Ardyn’s own court brought to a final end. 

Hands were pulled from his scalp when the Accursed determined it was _enough_. Ardyn did not need those softer feelings returning to cloud his judgement. Noctis should _never_ be allowed to become an attachment. Nothing more than a tool, but he knew there was only so much fooling of himself he could do. Ifrit had brought that little _something_ to light again. A possessiveness that had not been allowed in ages, tempered with something else. He dared not give voice to it. 

“If your wish is to visit Lestallum, then I can take you there. A warm bath and proper soaps are a great temptation.” He would need a disguise, but he was the master of illusions. Not too terribly difficult. He had taken the face of Prompto once, choosing another less recognizable one would hold little problem; just a drain on his power.   
The idea of spending time with his companion not wholly unpleasant. 

“I accepted it a while ago, even while I was raging against Bahamut’s insistence.” Noctis informed him as he bent low to dunk his hair into the water. Noctis went on to wash his own hair, not fussing over it too much. 

He kept Ardyn in his field of vision, watching him from the corner of his eye. Noctis didn’t really flinch this time at the thought of dying. Ten years ago it had shattered his heart, and there was not much left of it. Besides; everyone had to die eventually. He took a deep breath as he scrubbed and flaked at the scourge-tainted dirt flecking his skin.   
“I know it’s selfish. I just… I haven’t had the time you have. To get sick of everything,” Noctis said lowly. “I don’t want you to think I’m gonna waver. But I am… asking for just a bit more time.” He said. 

He felt that it was reasonable. The thought of dying, of going out with Ardyn in a blaze of royal arms and glory wasn’t the worst thing he could imagine. He knew that more and more people were becoming Daemons, succumbing to the scourge day in and day out. Noctis had to accept his desire for ‘a little more time’ as purely selfish. Of course it was. He was thirty years old, though he only had twenty years of experience under his belt. To be frozen in time in this moment was more a curse than he had realized at first. 

Noctis wasn’t sure what he wanted or what he was hoping for– something to soothe the ache in his chest, though if Ardyn’s mode of existence said anything it was more than likely that he was going to never find it… that he would only find the hole in his chest opening up wider and wider. He took a slow breath and shrugged. 

“I haven’t even gotten to enjoy my immortality yet.” He teased softly. It was in his manner to make jokes out of things that were too dark to handle in a normal manner, and he hoped Ardyn could at least appreciate that. “And– you’re not bad company, even if you do hate my guts.” He snickered and dipped below the water to rinse. 

He waited for his companion to rise from the waters before the conversation continued. “A detail I shall not let you to forget.” Dark humor returned in kind with the most teasing of smirks and a brush of his thumb across Noctis’ bottom lip. He need not speak of the other things that lurked beneath the surface shoved so far down as to ignore them. That maybe the Chosen’s company was not entirely a displeasure. “You will have your time, Noct. I am a patient man, but do not think I shall sit idly for years more at a time.”   
Reward given for his obedience in the matter, and perhaps to keep him down this path. An important detail Ardyn wished to keep. No others shall lead this king. If the Accursed was to be the dark Oracle that kept from going astray then so be it. 

Death had been on Ardyn’s mind since the gods had passed their orders to him as a mortal man. Their words held little promise that he would come out of the trials and ascension alive. He had been all but a husk even before the Crystal had denied him. In a way he could have sympathized with Noctis before all of their divine slayings started-- if the monster he’d become still had the capacity to do so. 

For a time after the initial shock had worn away revealing the new man the darkness had fashioned him into, Ardyn had had a bit of fun exploring what immortality entailed. However, as years droned on in endless procession he realized how much of a cursed existence it was. He had grown tired beyond that of men in their dying years. It settled and weighed upon the soul. His fixation on his revenge and centuries of spite had fueled him to continue since. Noctis was so **tragically** young when compared.   
The King of Kings had already tasted an immortal’s death. A permanence that did not linger, and an oblivion that could tease and taunt you for what you could not have. It could very well break lesser men. 

His ablutions seen to, Ardyn left the cold waters of the Slough and dried off with one of the few towels Noctis had found. “We shall not suffer the caravan for another day. If Lestallum is what you wish I can take you. After we have packed of course. Such a terrible waste to leave all our supplies behind.” An actual room if they could manage and perfect opportunity to see the suffering he’d inflicted upon the rest of humanity. 

Ardyn had been nothing if not well… reasonable. It almost seemed laughable after everything that had culminated in him claiming the Crystal’s power a decade earlier. reasonable– like a man who was capable of those things could possibly be considered as such. The realization made Noctis pause as though to suddenly reconsider everything he was doing. Was this another one of Ardyn’s wild schemes? He had come into this thinking that he was in control and choosing his own destiny but there were times when he wondered. Ardyn was a master manipulator, after all. 

No. He took responsibility for this. Even if Ardyn was using him, he’d put his foot down to choose the gods’ demise. He wanted to take the reigns of history out of their hands even if it meant ending everything.


	8. Civilization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Ardyn reach Lestallum and begin to regroup. Things do not go entirely as planned...

Noctis finished cleaning up and joined Ardyn on the dock before stretching out on the blanket he’d pulled out of the caravan. It was still a bit… weird– but it wasn’t like there were many people left to come wandering out in the middle of Duscae and stumble upon him in the nude. He’d noticed a few times, the lights of vehicles passing by on the road but there was no reason for them to come this way anymore. It was likely just people passing between Hammerhead’s outpost and Lestallum, anyway. 

He took a breath and returned to the conversation even though he had been quiet longer than maybe a normal person would’ve been. Time was already stretching in ways that he didn’t understand, it seemed. 

“If you’re so inclined, I wouldn’t mind hearing more of your stories.” He started with, sifting his fingers through his hair to encourage it to dry faster– less apt to get the plague-dust drifting in the air stuck in it. 

“And don’t worry, I don’t plan on taking another two thousand years to end this,” He teased gently. 

“Your hand would be forced if you tried, Noct.” Because for at least some years more the Chosen’s friends still lived… and they were still a viable option to get what Ardyn wished out of Noctis. A seat taken by his companion as he ran a towel through his hair. The Scourge in the air did not bother him. He was its living embodiment. With the world darkened as it was the Daemons were more quiet than they ever had been. 

“Even if you can’t understand it, I am thinking about you. I care– about your pain. What you’ve suffered. And I understand why you’d hate me and my people.” Even if it didn’t excuse what he’d done. He had made it clear he wasn’t going to forgive Ardyn; or seek his forgiveness. But… understanding and acceptance was another matter entirely. These were all things he might not have been able to say so readily before his time in crystal stasis, but here when they were needed-- despite the difficulty of it-- he spoke plainly.   
“I have no need of it.” Ardyn dared not give Noctis that leverage knowing that it did mean something to him even if he did not know what.   
“We can make it right. We will.” It was spoken more to himself than to anyone else.

Until Noctis had come to him that fateful day alone at the Citadel Ardyn very much had the Chosen placed upon the path he set. Plans going exactly as he wished them to until Noctis had proposed something else entirely. Something even Ardyn who _**always**_ sought to know every angle of a situation found himself surprised, elated even. To murder the gods with the King of Kings by his side? Never had any of his scenarios conjured such a fate. For if there was anyone he loathed more than Izunia’s line it was the Astrals themselves. And Noctis so terribly honest could not have been lying. Ardyn knew him better than that, so he had let him in for what was a delightful proposition. 

Tact had changed to accommodate the new situation the immortal found himself in. His manipulations were now far more subtle and aimed at keeping his companion along this darkest of paths. If Ardyn thought on it long enough he had long ago taken up the mantle of the king’s Oracle, just now the direction shifted to a fate both of them could snatch from the gods. 

The Monster was not entirely unreasonable if given what he wanted he could be placated for a time. 

The rest of the Chosen’s words made Ardyn go back to that place in his mind brought about first at the campfire. Conflicted when he should not be if only because understanding had been offered to him. Ifrit had tried once many years back, but the gods were sorely lacking in humanity. The Infernian had helped to make him what he was. He would never forget that. 

Far easier to concentrate on telling stories of the past than dealing with whatever this was. It nearly brought a sneer to his lips thinking on it too long. Noctis was a possession. A favored toy. _Nothing more_. 

“You requested a tale, did you not?” Not whatever this heart to heart discussion Noctis was attempting; he would not abide it. 

“The Draconian did not always hide himself away in the plane only reachable by immortals. He walked amongst humanity receiving their benediction from a castle on high. Pitioss was once its name where all the gods could call home-- but whether from cowardice or disfavor of the world he locked himself away where few can now reach.” And maybe when the time came they could use that to their advantage and summon him from where he hid safely from their eyes. 

Noctis was at this point, used to Ardyn dismissing his compassion. It didn’t change that it existed, or how it settled in his chest. The King of Light was unable to change his stance on the matter, regardless of Ardyn’s insistence that he might. He’d already taken everything he could from him, save for his friends. They remained as leverage and Noctis knew this. There was the simple fact that Noctis now understood what it was to thrash about blindly in pain– just wanting it to end. If… even a bit. Not nearly to the level that Ardyn had experienced such things.

As he recollected the supplies he’d brought down with them, Noctis listened to Ardyn talk. The age of the gods must have been… something else. Up until he had begun his own dogged pilgrimage around Eos while treading in the path Lunafreya left behind her, Noctis had had no notion of what the gods really were or what they could do. Only the sleepy muttering in his head which– in Luna’s wake– became splitting headaches and terrifying revelations. 

Bahamut had become nothing but the voice of the crystal to his people. If one didn’t read that dredge of psychobabble in Cosmogony, one might go their entire lives without hearing his name. Noctis sighed and re-wrapped himself in the comforter before he decided to make the trek back to the caravan. It was all just collecting what they could find of any use and then making the short drive into the city. 

It would be a wonder if he could pass unnoticed, but Ardyn was a master of illusions. Noctis supposed he’d just have to deny his resemblance to the missing king, for now– he wasn’t ready to be back. Wasn’t ready to explain what was going on. He wanted to forget his bonds and sink into the darkness of his simple plan with Ardyn.   
Once he was dressed properly, Noctis got to work re-loading things into the car, mulling over everything they’d talked about. “Lestallum. It’s… been a while.” Was all he really said aloud, though it was clear there was a great deal on his mind. 

The intention had always been to inflict pain and suffering upon Noctis from before he was born. To give the Chosen reason to lash out and take the only thing that might offer him relief: the crystal’s power. But now? That power was turned to something else entirely. Two immortals raging in the darkness against those who turned them into weapons to be tossed aside at the conclusion. 

Unlike his companion Ardyn knew what the gods were capable of. He had to act as his own Oracle in a journey wrought with aimless wandering and the pain ever present in his skull. Perhaps he had failed in his endeavors for the lack of companions at his side. Musings of his own trials floated about in his thoughts as he took up the task of returning and dressing for the masses whom would think it uncouth of him to walk around in bare flesh. Though going into a settlement there served more practical purpose for a being who harbored the Scourge beneath his skin. 

“Brings back memories, nay?” How long had he waited in Lestallum for Noctis and his companions to arrive? A few days lounging in the luxuries of a real bed. He had always known the Chosen King’s path. Not a nuance left out lest his plans veer off course.   
Before the two of them were ready to set off Ardyn halted Noctis with a hand to the king’s shoulder. Eyes burned into him in contemplation before a flash of garish magenta light. It only lasted a moment with a wave of uncomfortably tight magic washing over them both, restricting and contorting the air around them until it was almost too much to breathe before it released lingering as a heavy invisible fog. Outwardly nothing had appeared to change…. at least for them.   
“Now you need not worry about the troublesome notion that any will recognize either of us.” 

It placed a drain upon his power; an illusion that would need to be maintained across distances, but hold it Ardyn could. Looking at each other they would see nothing different, but a mirror or in the eyes of others their appearances were not of their own anymore. Just two weary Hunters traveling amongst the sea of endless night.   
A relatively quiet drive across roads fallen into disrepair, but it had been wise of the Accursed to disguise them so before now as the occasional car would pass them. Their features holding too much hope or fear to not be recognized. Lights peppering the roads to the fair city that shone like a beacon of hope against a black backdrop of helplessness.   
Noctis rested his chin on his hand, dozing in and out for a bit until the lights caught his eye. Lestallum. They’d left it behind after what had happened to poor Jared, for the most part. He still felt responsible but– since then, how many had died because of Bahamut’s insistence and Ardyn’s own machinations? That was something that he was entirely alone in facing, and he knew it. 

He glanced towards the gaping maw that was the Disk of Cauthess and wondered if anyone had seen the battle they’d waged. The Archean’s corpse had fallen into the depths of the crater, too far and deep to be seen even in the light– of which there was little to be had. He could only wonder– but surely the tremors had been felt for the first time in a decade. People _would_ talk. 

Bright lights that Ardyn had long since not had the pleasure of falling victim to. The endless night afforded him more comfort than in many years, but the first rays that would have given him no trouble before brought about an amount of discomfort. The Daemons wished to flee from such aching brightness, but Ardyn was their master. They would bend to his will whether they wished of it or not. Outwardly he only gave the slightest twitch of his nose and lips at the near pain, hand momentarily clenching tighter upon the steering wheel. 

Though he himself was born gifted with magic, it was certainly not as practical as the brand that Ardyn wielded. Perhaps it was simply due to the fact that he’d had so much longer to explore and expand on it– or it was in their nature; their personalities. Noctis was good at imbuing things and vessels with properties, be they elemental or restorative in nature. Ardyn’s powers were– a mystery even to him. Maybe it had something to do with someone being lost in their own mind; that he had gained the power to twist and manipulate others’. 

Noctis took the initiative when they arrived and parked. He could sense Ardyn’s discomfort but couldn’t quite place the source of it. Hopefully it would diminish when away from the artificial UV lights that protected the borders of the city. The lights paled in comparison to the harshness of the dawn, as far as Ardyn was concerned. Myriad of darks souls shifted in a finite vessel for a place to hide where there was none to be had. A drain placed upon his magic to extend the illusion he held them under and an internal struggle to regain control of his hordes left Ardyn feeling stretched. In this moment Ardyn ceded the lead to Noctis through the city with the hand as his back offering a bit of guidance.   
The Accursed distracted his mind with conversations that passed around them. The lack of quakes in the area. The cries that echoed into the night sky like no monster could. A stray hunter spoke of someone awakening the Archean before the screams. Rumors that were growing out of control, but humanity knew _something_ was afoot.   
Content to allow Noctis to handle negotiations for their room this evening, Ardyn occupied his time by noting the changes in the air. People were more despondent and the jovial nature of Lestallum lost as hopes fled. Warm climate tempered by the lack of the sun. It was only here in the presence of the harsh UV lights of the city that the black ash did not fully fall from the sky.

Noctis' hand hovered at the small of the taller Immortal’s back as he moved on from the car and along the familiar path towards the Leville. It made sense to keep something like that up and running while making room for refugees throughout the city. Enough people seemed to be trickling in and out anyway–   
And it seemed that there was little interest in currency anymore. It meant nothing. Luckily in their haze of magic they appeared to be little more than tired travelers and as he negotiated for a room, he nearly cried at the prospect of light and warmth– and running water.

“An unholy honeymoon,” He found himself muttering in jest under his breath as he made for the stairs– always eager to get out of the prying eyes of the public.   
Far easier to quell the Daemons now that he was out of the same infernal lighting. The discomfort would be will worth the effort of a warm bath and a proper bed.   
“Ah but I do not recall a marriage-- or was I dead when it transpired?” A tease that echoed back to their earlier trials in the mud that had driven them to come here. Their room was nothing to be too excited over had they not taken to a caravan for several days; an actual bed with running water and shampoo to do something with his mess of locks. With both of them safely out of sight of others, Ardyn released the flow of magic that hid their true appearances. Black streaks outlining his veins made themselves known on parts of his fingers exposed by the gloves, the Scourge rising to the surface to supplement his power. 

A single bed occupied the room which left the fallen king smirking. “Oh Noct, you may give a man the impression that you might actually enjoy his nightly company.” A playful taunt followed by fingers ghosting along Noctis’ arm. 

“I don’t think we had any say in the matter-- the place is packed... but honeymoon it is.” He teased right back.   
The mood had shifted considerably just with the warmth of civilization, something that Noctis himself hadn’t expected ( or experienced ) in over a decade now. It was for him, a sliver of a return to his humanity though he was not that now, nor would he ever be again. 

He paced the room, almost instantly kicked out of his shoes just to walk on the carpet. Some worldly comforts before he went up against the two most terrifying deities he’d ever encountered– that wasn’t all that terribly selfish, was it? Just enough. He almost laughed out loud and then immediately made to pop into the bathroom. There was probably some coin operated laundry nearby– that would be… well. Maybe procuring a temporary change of clothes would be a good idea. Whatever.   
"Have you forgotten our true purpose and end, Noctis?" Ardyn's voice came softly. "Are you going to be too soft to do your duty?   
And then– Ardyn’s question had him turning in the doorway, brow raised. 

“I've not forgotten, Ardyn.” He looked at him with a quiet sort of confidence. It wasn’t like he would deny something like that.   
They were ‘supposed’ to hate each other, but his knowledge of the fact that Ardyn himself had orchestrated that almost entirely almost made him stubbornly want to feel anything _but_ that towards him. Noctis had had enough of people taking his future out of his hands. If the once king of Lucis thought he needed to hate him in order to put him out of his misery— well. Maybe he should say so. 

Noctis crossed his arms, expression becoming stern; stern enough to match the age on his features.   
“I don’t need to hate you to want to end both of our suffering.” He added coolly. 

What a funny thing, that Ardyn’s machinations could’ve all been avoided if he’d only just explained himself to Noctis at the start of all this; come to him at his coming of age. But it was the Chancellor’s hate and love of inflicting pain that had driven him to this. Again he noted; while he couldn’t blame him, he didn’t exactly forgive him either.   
“Now– let’s enjoy ourselves a little. One last little indulgent moment in time, or whatever.”

Pain and hatred came so easily to Ardyn. Both reminded him of how alive he was at times. A fractured mind that took comfort in these things. Pain that now brought him pleasure both when afflicted and when others inflicted it upon him because there was no other sane way for Ardyn to accept it. His existence was painful in of itself if only because he could recall the times when he was human. 

If Noctis did not hate him now, where was he in the Chosen’s standing? An attachment had formed however misguided it was. Somewhere along this journey things had shifted or had Noctis given up his hatred for him even before arriving at the Citadel? Just as in their time spent at the Chocobo post, Ardyn was all too aware that something was there in his chest when he looked at Noctis. That he felt the need to protect him from the Infernian and keep him for himself the most telling of all.  
That stern expression that challenged his authority made him feel both a need to put Noctis in his place and a slight affection that someone dared to defy him.   
“When do I not indulge myself?” Words punctuated by a hand brought quickly to the small of the Chosen’s back, drawing him close and tipping his chin upwards to steal a kiss from him. A nip was left behind on his companion’s bottom lip as he withdrew. 

How long had it been since he enjoyed the mundane? Far longer than ten years. His time as Chancellor afforded him little time to himself unless he scheduled others to attend meetings in his place. Lestallum would be a good diversion. A better place to spend their days gathering their strength than the caravan in the middle of nowhere with little in supplies. 

“Might I suggest a decent meal-- and a bit of shopping for more clothing would not be remiss.” Though it would mean venturing back out under the lights and placing another illusion over them. It would be a strain, but not one unmanageable even in his diminished state of power from a recent death. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I was thinking that, too.” Noctis paused though, his expression softening at the kiss. He smiled a bit and reached up to fluff Ardyn’s hair with delicate fingers. It was almost painfully domestic, but then again it was the little things that brought the most joy after all. 

Noctis was tired but that wasn’t new. The Crystal’s power drained him easily, sometimes to the point of it making people insist that he was lazy for the extra sleep he needed. He found in Ardyn’s company though, it was far less pressing to keep up any sort of pretense. They were focused entirely on the task at hand save for these small creature comforts. Noctis leaned in and rested against the taller man for a moment and then nodded. 

Ardyn understood the drain of the crystal. A firsthand experience of what it demanded of the person tasked with wielding it’s power. A drain he would have felt more keenly if it were not for the Daemons crammed in alongside its light, but even they had their limits. A return from death? It left him more vulnerable than the immortal cared to admit.   
“Though I wouldn’t mind crashin’ for like… a while. I feel like I could sleep for a week.” Or another ten years, maybe. 

“We do have all of the time in the world afforded to us. If resting after our outing is what you require.” If it was what Noctis required to continue forward then why not allow him that? 

But first things were first. They were weary travelers who needed to do something about the mess all of that hunting had done to their clothing. Of course– no one needed to know what it was that they’d been hunting. 

He shrugged and turned to look at himself in the bathroom mirror– something he’d shied away from since he’d emerged from Bahamut’s Crystal stasis. There was… good reason for it, wasn’t there? He was unfamiliar to himself even now, stubble marking his features even though it still took a good deal of time to grow in, it seemed. He’d never have the distinguished look of his father, it seemed. That was alright. He didn’t have time for that kind of thing, anyway. 

Transience. You’d have thought he had become used to it in his time on the road, but it seemed that certain habits and tendencies were hard to pry out of someone like Noctis.   
That Noctis pointedly and actively refused to look himself had not gone unnoticed to Ardyn. Was his companion so torn upon his appearance-- even as visually appealing to the eye as he was? An idea of old came to the Accursed’s mind for when next they decided to fall into their lust and passions. For now he settled on a teasing touch to his companion’s neck before he turned away from his reflection. He had grown accustomed to these small gestures shared between them. 

“Right. Lets see if any of these outfitters have anything that’ll serve as a change of clothes. I uh. Iggy taught me how to sew and stuff. I can fix most of the tears and all that.”   
“One of your retainers? The one who lost his sight, yes?” Ardyn had kept tabs on each of them after all. An affectionate nickname given to the closest of friends. Eyes lingered upon Noctis before he summoned the illusion over them once more. Far easier if neither of them went recognized. Only then did he lead the two of them out of their room and into the streets of Lestallum. The lighting just as irritating as the first time. Given a few days more he would accumulate again to where it no longer posed an issue. The darkened night and his extended stay at the Citadel had spoiled him and the hordes that writhed beneath flesh.

People passed by them without a second glance; just two Hunters passing through; a common sight in this World of Ruin. The fallen king keeping his pace slow so that Noctis may stay close. The market was just as chaotic as in days past but with far less cheer. Clothes could be secured first. A meal they could share back at the hotel out of the lights and away from people. 

Left in charge of leading the two of them Ardyn selected one vendor that was more towards his tastes.   
“I assume you will be able to find something suitable.” He had to temper the urge to follow with a title for the sake of the anonymity. As he thumbed through the garments hanging upon racks then, he felt it. The first stab of pain like a dagger driven behind his eye.   
Only the barest of twitches given at the sudden onslaught that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Ardyn reasoned with himself that it was the drain the illusion was taking along with the lights. Nothing more. He was after all no stranger to pain. 

“M'not really picky.” He never had been. Noctis had always been a bit shy of appearing properly royal unless he had help.   
He’d always been more likely to dress for comfort than for decorum, even though he was still dressing in designer fashion that the lower class of Insomnia and those outside the walls could never imagine. It was really grossly decadent when he thought back on it, the strange microcosm of an economy that existed in the Crown City alone.   
When he looked back on the city he’d grown up in, it was a tightly woven regime steeped in propaganda. The rich got richer and the poor; the immigrants and refugees– got poorer. They suffered under a system that everyone treated as though it were ‘just the way things were’ and for what? For it to be laid to ruin and the greatest among them made equal with the lesser. 

He selected something quickly; simple and thrifty– better to spend what Gil he had on food and other enjoyments at this point, after all. When he turned to pay he stopped to see where Ardyn was– what he was doing. He definitely looked tired, more tired that Noctis felt he’d seen him as of yet; and he’d seen him dead.   
The King of Light stayed close enough not to stretch Ardyn’s magic. He couldn’t help but feel bad, it was in his nature. He gave him a few more moments to himself and then came closer, rested his hand at the small of the taller man’s back. 

“Find something suitable? It’s not like you’ll be wearing it long if you don’t want to. Just long enough to let everything be washed and. I can fix up any holes or tears after.” He felt a little bit like he was placating a child who was grumpy and ran the risk of going into tantrum mode at any moment.   
Maybe it was a little unfair, but he knew that Ardyn and his moods were not to be trifled with. Noctis waited, watched him with the concern of a lover. The sweltering heat had him pushing clinging hair from his face– it seemed some things never changed. He would have liked to get back inside sooner rather than later, but with Ardyn seeming so distracted– well, maybe he was imagining it. 

“Maybe grab something sweet on the way back?” Did Ardyn even have a sweet tooth? Well, maybe he’d have to find out.   
The world had closed in on the focus of the tasks he shuffled between in his mind. Had he not died this would have been an easier task, but Ardyn would suffer through it as he always had. Dredges of magic pulled at his core wearing down on a thinned man even more. It would not have been enough issue on its own to cause the exhaustion written upon his features. No. The sharp, stabbing pain returned again threatening to make him lash out in a way to find relief.   
An overuse of his powers was not new, but this was felt ever more keenly; more targeted and punctuated. It made selecting something suitable and would fit his rather large frame difficult. His surroundings dulled out to concentrate on what he could manage. He barely registered Noctis’ presence until he felt the hand upon his back, gentle and reassuring. Like a man trying to calm a beast before it bit. 

Garments had little to do with his mood. Hidden by the clothing and his body he pulled a pouch old and well used out of air in pinpricks of light. More strain, but this thankfully he only had to do once. If little else Ardyn was a stubborn man willing to push himself through the breaking point. 

He hummed in agreement. Minute lines upon aristocratic features eased at the mentioned promise of something sweet. If they could find cake he would be placated like a most sated cat. For once a true smile twitched at the corners of his lips.   
“A pastry or two would not be remiss. Far better than the assortment we have the displeasure of feasting upon.” Tone wavered every so slightly from his signature smooth drawl.   
Clothing and supplies paid for, Ardyn allowed Noctis to lead. The occasional lances of pain in his skull made it rather laborious to do much more than follow the Lucian black of the Chosen one in his field of vision. It afforded him that small peace to keep the mask in place where Noctis would not be able to see his relative fragility. Somewhere beneath the scratching of Daemonic souls and their discomforts, the Accursed immortal swore he heard a whisper.   
Noctis carried bags on his arm, the strange illusion of what seemed like it could’ve been a simple life carrying him in a dream– or maybe that was just the haze of Ardyn’s magic. He could’ve lost himself in it: if things had been different, if only– no. 

If things had been any different, Ardyn would’ve been dead long ago. He may have visited his tomb or read about him in school but they’d have never met. Somehow, being stricken from history and cursed was the only thing that had guaranteed they would know each other across the ages; face to face. He knew now, that there was light and tenderness in him, and Noctis felt as though it was part of his duty to weather the storm surrounding it: to weigh it with the moments when Ardyn was positively charming and made him laugh. They shared that dark humor that seemed to be the only remedy to the gaping maw of fate waiting to at any moment swallow them whole.   
It was such a painful thing to consider. It was clear that Ardyn didn’t truly want to be erased or forgotten– just for his suffering to end. Noctis wanted so badly to give him his rightful place; wanted so much to return him to his glory though– he feared what he might do with it now. Noctis wanted to believe that he could be the light to his darkness; that together, they could bring the balance that their world needed. It was a distant hope. He knew they were much more likely to die– with no other choice but to kill each other to end it all. 

The Accursed was distracted, but he didn’t pry. He let him trail in his wake as he stopped at two different vendors to pick up food– adding to the load he was carrying on his arm. Lestallum’s food had always been something else; fresh off the street, exotic flavors– and decadent sweets. He was excited about that much.   
Surroundings drowned out entirely as Ardyn attempted to get a hold of himself. He prided himself on composure when it suited him. Mind calculated in silence to find what caused his affliction. For now he settled on an over use of his powers so soon after death. The Daemons could repair much, but it did require much of his strength.   
“C'mon, let’s get out of this heat.” Noctis was– almost cheerful as he led the way back to their room at the Leville, glad to get out of the crush of human bodies and muttering. He was doing his best not to listen to the whispers. They were… a far cry from encouraging. Everyone was afraid. Everyone was worried. 

Noctis’ voice was the only thing that pulled him out of his thoughts as the Chosen spoke to him. “Delightful. The sights here were beginning to bore.” He sneered when someone brushed against his side. Temper pulled taut in the wake of his steadily growing migraine. Fist clenched momentarily as he stayed his hand in bathing the street in blood for a perceived insult. 

When they were back in their personal space, Noctis went to immediately unpacking food on the table, glancing at Ardyn from time to time in an attempt to gauge what was going on with him. 

The shared Illusion broke as soon as they entered their room away from the eyes of others. It lifted the strain, but not the pounding in his head settling in like a staccato.   
Brief, pointed images painted into his mind blocking out his vision in their flashes. _Fire. Lava. Rock. The human form known as Uriah. An abandoned throne. Demanding_. The images almost brought him to his knees with each stab of directed pain that was now clearly a god summoning him. Features drawn pinched in their wake. Ardyn was well aware it would not cease until he heeded the call. A covenant that kept servant tied to master. Why now of all times? The Infernian had just conversed with him in his most recent of deaths. Why demand he come crawling to his feet so quickly? A troubling notion that the Accursed knew did not bode well. 

Whatever Noctis had planned would need to wait. The Infernian would only make the pain worse the longer he held off. His companion’s attention grabbed by pushing him against a wall keeping him there by his larger frame alone. His hand wrapped tightly around Noctis’ neck as a crazed smile wove its way upon his face. Dusty blue eyes trained on.   
_His. No other’s._

Noctis was gripped only momentarily by a panic that was swiftly wiped away. There was something very wrong here, something that he couldn't put his finger on--  
“I suddenly recall an appointment I must keep. Do not stray far. I would be most displeased if I do not find you upon my return.” The grip upon Noctis’ throat eased, no further explanation given on his behavior. The threat was punctuated by a hard nip to the Chosen’s lip bringing a small cut to the surface. The coppery taste of blood on Ardyn’s tongue mixed with the particles of the Crystal’s light that stung. It lingered as he turned and stalked from the room, leaving Noctis baffled and more than a little worried.


	9. The Infernian's Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much needed rest and recharging is to be had in Lestallum, but there is something dark-- darker than even Ardyn Izunia's own soul, pulling at the Accursed's mind. Ifrit summons his champion, but for what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ifrit's characterization and some of the more minute details in this tale are derived from my own headcanons in regard to him. For the sake of understanding some things in this chapter I will mention some of them here:
> 
> -The name Uriah ( read as Yer-eye-uh) is mentioned, and that is the name I gave Ifrit's human form. Imagine "Uriah" as "Gentiana" is to Shiva.  
> -Ifrit's god form was destroyed (like Shiva's by Ardyn) upon Ravatogh by the other Astrals in retaliation, and to stop him from further spreading the Star Scourge two thousand years ago.  
> -He is largely responsible for the corruption of Ardyn's soul; a task he undertook because he fancied the Oracle and wanted to keep him.  
> -Ifrit seems to take responsibility for the 'curse' of Ardyn's immortality for whatever reason, considering it his gift to him that they may be together forever.

The punctuated beat of pain had not ceased even after he pulled himself through the seams of the world to appear before the Infernian like a puppet drawn back to it’s master. Ifrit was clearly displeased if the migraine had not been abated. The very air suffocating even without the heat of the volcano nearby. 

The petty deity was jealous and possessive over his servant. Ardyn’s eye and attention was no longer upon Ifrit, but the King of Kings. The threat was not lost upon him. Ifrit was inclined to seize the Chosen from him and eliminate the obstacle between their ‘love’. The Accursed, however, held no love for the Astral of fire. Theirs was an alliance of convenience quickly becoming not so beneficiary for the fallen king. He still hated all the gods, especially Ifrit for his hand in turning him into what he was. More Daemons stitched into his soul to the tipping point where the crystal would no longer offer him peace. 

Noctis was an attachment now that Ifrit could exploit as the god was want to do in the past with anything that garnered Ardyn’s attentions for too long. Part of the reason he no longer desired companions at his side even if they were just being used, but Noctis was too important to lose. Too crucial… to well everything.  
“I have been calling to you for over an **hour** , _Chancellor_.” He spat the hated title as though it were a mockery of respect. 

The human form caging fallen divinity, known as Uriah, sat upon a moldering throne of stone, bone, and viscera. He tapped impatient fingertips and their long, sharpened nails upon the arm, chin resting in his other hand as he made it very clear that he was waiting quite impatiently. It had been nearly a day since Ardyn and the object of his affections had entered the crowded city, now stuffed to bursting with those fleeing the Daemons. It was futile; they were all infected, he noted. They would all eventually turn or turn to dust. He knew this as the one who had dirtied his hands with the Plague the most.

Ifrit was just barely containing the flames of his annoyance, and he made sure it was well known. “I wonder if I would find the Chosen as captivating when he’s bloodied as you do. The way you look at him, might make someone jealous if they were so inclined, don’t you think Ardyn?” He asked softly. “He liked me, I think.” It was a _thinly_ veiled threat. 

And in these moments Ardyn wore the face of a politician as he danced around the Infernian with pretty words to keep his gaze and thoughts away from his Chosen. “Forgive me. My senses are still dulled from my most recent bout of death. I had foolishly mistaken your summon for exhaustion.” Ifrit gave him pause, but Ardyn sauntered forward with all of his brimming confidence and self-assuredness. Placating lilt added to his voice to give the illusion of someone grateful, affectionate even. 

“The Chosen is a foolish man. We both know the real reason you came to his aid was on account of me. Admit it, my dearest Ifrit—” Lips formed into a slight pout. Mocking if Ifrit could read human emotions that well, but the Accursed knew that wasn’t so when he was involved. “—you only offered aid because it pained you to see me in such a sorry state.”  
Ifrit watched in silence, letting Ardyn’s words sink in as he spoke. Slowly, he nodded along to show his approval as face split into a sharp-toothed-grin. To hear any kind of praise on the Accursed’s lips was to sing Ifrit’s spirit into a warm fire, most pleasant as he stood and swept his hand through the air. The space became warmer and less oppressive, a bit of light cast about to make them feel a bit more well, _human_ – and he came to lightly cradle Ardyn’s face in his hands. 

“Oh my Oracle, as lovely as the day I first laid eyes upon you, come to pay tribute at my feet.” He said softly. 

Ardyn had caught his eye from the very start, in a way that no human ever had. Humans were sacrifices to be devoured, usually. Ifrit found himself wanting to consume Ardyn in a different way. Oh he loved how the people of Solheim feared and revered him but he found that he wanted to be _loved_ as well. 

The deceptively human form leaned closer and brushed their lips together with a gentleness that was a lie. He did so like to watch Ardyn’s reactions to these moments as they came. On some level, Ifrit knew that Ardyn’s subservience was a ruse. He didn’t know what real honesty was– He knew only the fear of worshipers begging for succor.  
And in that sense– Ardyn was the only one left to him. His hold upon the holy seat of Ravatogh had been stricken from history. No save a few lonely cults who remembered him through the ages still paid him tribute. Oh but Ardyn; Ardyn was the tribute that kept on giving. 

It took all the years of self-restraint he learned as a young man in a royal court not to allow the hatred and fire to seep into his face. Ifrit would know those emotions too well. They had known each other far too long for him not to recognize it. He reminded himself that when the time came, and Noctis sufficiently ready that Ifrit’s fire would be forever extinguished. 

Features drawn to neutrality and forced himself not to struggle in even this briefest of kisses. The pressure returned if only to appease the fickle god. Noctis would be made grateful for every slight he endured upon his behalf here. Demanding god that wished for more than his pretty little lies. Ifrit’s love was always a damned thing.  
“Show me, Ardyn. Show me your gratitude, and I will show you my love for you.” 

If the deity was expecting him to bow, it would never come. The Accursed King bent his knee to no god. Instead he reached over, taking the god’s hand within his own. Amber eyes trained upon the farce of a human form as he brought his lips to "Uriah’s" knuckles in grateful, worshiping gesture. 

“Please do not concern yourself with where my loyalties lie. Have I not always come when you’ve called for me?” A monster trying to placate another monster that he wished to slaughter in the most gruesome of ways. Ardyn wondered how beautiful of an arc that head would make when cleaved from body. Would Ifrit scream as his life ended just as the others had?

Thoughts for another time. Now he was orchestrating a most careful waltz teetering upon the edge of the abyss. A misstep here could cost him much. “Has it not been your side that I always return to?” Hands carefully brushed aside copper locks to place a teasing nip at the god’s neck. It could be considered meek for him when compared to lovers he had taken to bed over the years. 

“Always,” He confirmed. It gave him a great deal of pleasure to know that Ardyn was bound to him. There had been many Oracles after him but none as lovely, and none that called to _him_. 

It was with desperation and selfishness that he clung to Ardyn. The Infernian had been cut off by his siblings, and the fondness that he had once harbored for Ardyn in prticular had turned to a desperate need to fill his eternity with something other than emptiness. 

To a god, what was a man other than something to own? Something from which to demand worship? 

And oh, their earthly affections were so sweet. Ifrit sighed and fought the urge to crow with delight as lips brushed his skin.

“I wanted to make certain that you’ve not lost sight of your true place, Ardyn. He’s a foolish king indeed, but I think he strikes my fancy. Does he bend to you? Does he make sweet sounds when you lay together?” He purred sweetly. 

With Ifrit it was impossible to tell if he was being genial or laying a trap. In fact, the deity himself likely did not yet know. He tilted his head and watched the Accursed with fiery eyes, hooded slightly as he threaded long fingers through his hair. 

“I do not begrudge you your exploits but I think I might like him for myself. You could keep him for eternity, mm? What do you think?” Ifrit was arrogant. There was no real hint that the Scourge could battle the light of the crystal inside of Noctis now, or that the light of the crystal would wane– it was not sentient, not like the blessing of the Astrals, as it was bound to them. Turning their backs on the gods had not changed the crystal’s light, filling Noctis like a vessel. 

“I could taint him like you, if you’ll just **give** him to me.” 

Even as hedonistic as Ardyn was he made it a polite habit not to discuss the intimate details of each of his carnal pursuits with others. At least so pointedly with names and faces involved. The Accursed hated that in his infinite skill of perception it was still hard to read Ifrit and his arguably temperamental moods. He was almost grateful for the position they were in with Ifrit so close to his ear because Ardyn could not quell the sneer that came to his face quickly enough. 

Eyes flared wide and lips pulled back to expose teeth before he sealed it away behind the mask he wore. Noctis was not Ifrit’s toy. Noctis belonged to him and him alone. He would steer Ifrit’s attentions away from him by dubious methods if that was what was required. Then he was forced to watch as the god gazed at him closely for a reaction, fingers threading in his hair. An act he usually found pleasure in, but not when the fiery deity engaged in it. Still he forced himself to lean into his touch. All to keep his Chosen where he belonged: with him. 

“Whatever transpires pales in comparison to you. He would not sate me as you do nor would he provide you with the same experience that I offer.” A careful line to be walked and all Ardyn could do was offer himself up on the execution block to stay Ifrit’s hand. Play to the Astral’s ego and love of him. “The light will be enough to sustain him, my dear Ifrit. Do not let him concern you when I am right before your eyes.” 

If anyone was to taint the King of Kings it would fall to him and no one else. Noctis was bound to him by fate and prophecy. Ardyn would not suffer anything less. It may have been a mistake to lie with him as many times as he did showing Noctis his favor while the Infernian watched from the shadows and even worse-- showing interest beyond that. Ifrit had always appeared to conflate romance and carnal desires. Anything that drew the fallen king’s attention longer than he cared for. 

He had to force the expression and air of a dour mood. Fingers trailing over the white of the god’s garments. “Am I not enough?” By Eos did he hate it when he felt nothing but disgust and an urge to rip Ifrit to shreds where he stood. 

And Ardyn did know how to play to Ifrit’s desires even if he was baffled by him. The deity all but purred, a soft rumble from within him that was a reminder of how terribly inhuman he really was. There was always around him; wreathing him like an aura this otherness that made him unsettling. He wore a guise; a mask for a towering monster of claw and horn and flame. 

Strange really, that a beast who despised humanity seemed to appear so very human. 

Ifrit could not deny how he enjoyed the stroking of his ego. There were other things he could do with some stroking of. Ah yes– that seemed a fitting tribute. 

“Have you ever heard tale of what tribute I was once paid? I was once the beloved god of love and passion you know.” Ifrit mused as he stroked his hand back through Ardyn’s hair.  
“To make love to a god is an act of worship. Though I do know that we are busy creatures. You must tell me Ardyn– you plan on extinguishing my flame as you did to the others, don’t you? Or do you think you can convince me that you’d spare me?” Now the chagrin and distaste were rising to the surface, becoming more apparent. 

He had been quite in the mood for something more… carnal and yet– Ah, he had no need to hold back such fury from Ardyn. 

The vicious strength of his hand dug into Ardyn’s shoulder with bruising force and pulled him back, forcing him to look into his face. Ifrit smiled, all teeth– a sneer that could’ve cut glass, likely– and patted Ardyn’s cheek. 

“I’ll find no such tribute any longer, hm?” Never had he so desperately wanted to crush what he had so long called his own as he did in that moment.

A tribute of yore that the fallen king recalled much to his chagrin. What would people not do to gain the favor of the gods? There was no ‘making love’ to Ifrit as the god had so eloquently put it. It was a brutal affair where a deity would always toss his partner aside like a used piece of refuse. The thought alone made Ardyn cringe inwardly. He was no stranger to the act as Ifrit had demanded it of him before. Every time he hated having to bow and cater to the whims of an insatiable, petty being. 

Whatever the enraged lord of fire desired, the Accursed knew he would not leave the encounter unmarred. The grip on his shoulder alone bore testament to that fact.

“I would only have my revenge upon the gods whom have wronged me. You alone shall be allowed life.” A pause as he forced fondness into his usual drawl. “For what am I without your gracious assistance?” A convincing, pretty little lie. Ifrit would be spared for the time being until he could draw Noctis more firmly into his shadow where Ifrit could no longer sink his claws into the Chosen King. 

Carefully he tried to assuage the god’s growing ire. So long as it was directed towards him and no other it would be tolerated. The heat of fire threatening to be unleashed could be felt in Ifrit’s touch. Gloved hand reached up to soothe and caress the hand that was almost crushing his shoulder enough to break it. No. He would most certainly not come out of his unscathed at this rate. Unfortunate, as his body was still a fragile thing. 

“If tribute would prove where my loyalties lie and have always, then you need but to ask.” By Eos did he hate offering himself like this. His ire writhing beneath the surface only a hair’s breath away from unleashing itself. A lifetime of holding back as politician stayed him, if barely. 

The hand gripping Ardyn’s shoulder shifted to cradle his face instead and for Ifrit it was truly hard to resist the urge to snap his beloved servant’s neck then and there. But that would’ve been more cruel than he even wished to be. He knew he ran risk of losing Ardyn’s affections even now– could not comprehend how long it had been since he had already quite lost that if he’d ever truly had it…

Lovely features contorted in the shadow of his rage, teeth sharper than any human’s should have been as he gripped Ardyn’s jaw. 

“I don’t approve of this, Ardyn. I know what the chosen’s destiny is. Do you think I’m a fool? After everything I’ve done to give you immortality– to make you like me… You would allow him a chance at revoking that?” 

But then Ifrit gave pause, shrinking back down with a thoughtful hum. Oh– 

“Wait– oh my clever little one– of course. If he loves you, he’d never want to destroy you.” 

Finally, he released Ardyn and paced for a moment, ancient gears turning in his head before he turned back and stole a bruising kiss. His beloved Oracle– always his, no matter what anyone else thought or wanted. Including the man in question, it seemed. Ifrit seemed to be entirely unaware of what his actions were capable of; he’d always been terribly unaware of human convention, after all. 

His fingertips left searing burns against the side of Ardyn’s throat– a blazing hot reminder of his intent; that he’d best be right about his assumption, or he would not be so forgiving. 

Even as grip shifted Ardyn felt the very real threat they presented. His infatuation with Noctis had angered the god in addition to that question that hung about them in a thick, consuming fog: would the servant eventually come to slay the master? Ardyn knew the answer, but it was imperative that Ifrit remain unaware of the truth. The god would fight and struggle the most, and more importantly turn his wrath towards the weaker link in the unholy alliance. 

In the face of an angry god, the Accursed kept features straight, neutral as any slight twitch of muscle may give true intentions away. The deity in his massive ego that always tried to understand human thoughts, but always fell so utterly short; a mind just as manipulative and twisted as the fallen King's own. The most dangerous of adversaries for Ardyn to fall out of favor with. “He is a mere puppet in my designs as he always has been.” 

A Celestial being would never comprehend the tired, aching exhaustion that pulled at what was a mortal man coupled with the blackest of darkness and years stretched beyond holding true meaning. Ifrit had never been mortal and thus would never understand Ardyn’s very **real** wish to die. 

Ardyn forced himself to kiss back so the god was placated. It was easy to mimic real feelings when royal blood had taught you to do it so well. He allowed a sharp intake of breath to escape him, an erotic sound, at the burns inflicted because that was what a jealous lover would wish to fall from his lips. Wounds superficial and could be healed once outside of his ‘master’s’ purview. 

“I would never dream of surrendering the precious gift you have given me. My aim and goal is and always will be to seek revenge on those whom wronged me.” A hand reached over tracing the outline of Uriah’s shoulder and arm. “You were never on that list, my dear.” Oh but he was. Maybe further down in his quest for vengeance but always there. “The others will be punished for their transgressions towards us. And without the Chosen… they have no method to stem destruction that awaits them.” 

Ardyn rested his head against the god’s own, daring to pull the heated rage of a being into his arms in an embrace. “It pains my heart to know you doubt me so. I will forever be yours. Your Oracle no matter how far I have fallen from the crystal’s favor.” 

Finally it seemed that Ardyn’s honeyed words had found their target and soothed the fiery beast– at least this time. Ifrit’s vessel sighed and his smile became softer– more the human once called Uriah and less the monster that wore his face. 

This time, Ifrit gathered Ardyn into a hug that was terribly, deceptively human. He nuzzled into his shoulder, hands pressed lightly against his shoulders as he held him there– offering all the warmth of the coziest of blankets as he let out a soft hum. He’d gone from ruthless beast to purring kitten in a matter of moments, which seemed to be the very nature of his whims. 

“I never should have doubted you, forgive me my beloved– you see, I have never measured time before until I met you.” He said softly. “To think that the hours could be ticking away until I lose you forever, unable to gaze upon your lovely face would be more than I could bear.” 

The demanding, spiteful air had left him entirely and now, Uriah seemed nearly cheerful, all the pretty good looks and divine light that he had ever embodied having settled back over him, robes helpfully hiding the ugly black and grey of the skin of his left side– tarnished by the slow rot of the very Scourge he had capitalized upon spreading. 

“And of course, I am ever gracious.” He straightened back up, hands resting lightly on Ardyn’s shoulders. “Use your toy as you like– and he will know true humiliation when in his last pitiful moments you offer him up to me to be devoured.” 

The lie was far too easy to believe– Ardyn would do as he liked with Noctis until the other Astrals were gone, and then he and Ifrit would have all of eternity together. Magnificent.  
But Ardyn would never offer up Noctis to this god or any other. The Chosen was fated for him and him alone. They could not bestow upon him the most precious of gifts and then demand it be returned. The King of Kings had been more than he could have dreamt about in his long years; far exceeding his expectations of what was possible. Oh no, the prophecy guaranteed Noctis tied to him in a fatal dance of fate. He would suffer no less. 

Ifrit had cast a bit of doubt. If Noctis… No, Ardyn dismissed the thought from his mind. He would not allow the Chosen to slip away from their destiny so easily.  
Parting kiss was given to the god’s tarnished hand leaving a smear of the Scourge upon the Accursed’s lips. Blackness-- that he licked from his lips. It no longer effected him nor left the tingling sensation upon skin as it would others. He was its vessel now, after all. Lips curled to show his ‘agreement’ to the deity’s words.  
“You will have him at that time.” A time that would never come. 

“By your leave then.” Ardyn gave the barest bow of his head. “I will always return when you have need of me.” Slowly, he took a few steps back before turning his back on Ifrit completely passing into the space between the worlds to find his way back to Lestallum quickly. The whole ordeal with a petty god leaving him feeling the weight of his immortality more keenly. The grey streaks that signified his great use of power painted lines along his skin following his veins. Dark circles clung as drapes to the bottom of his eyes, but had yet to start oozing; a small blessing. Burns contrasted on pale, almost ashen skin leaving visible fingermarks upon his neck. 

Now to find Noctis-- for the Accursed did not know how long he had been away. Time could not be easily told when your body did not typically require rest nor did the sun signify the passage of hours. 

Really, Noctis had been too startled by the sudden actions of his partner to properly argue or even demand explanation for what was going on. Something was definitely eating Ardyn more than usual– more than the Daemons at any rate. He had been left with a split lip and stinging eyes as Ardyn saw himself out. 

It was disconcerting being alone, as it had always been for him. He’d stepped out onto the balcony to watch people moving around outside, but it had only made him more anxious. Noctis stopped to eat and then showered and returned to curl up in bed. The relative comfort of civilization was a plus, but he had to face the fact that he had no idea what Ardyn was really up to behind his back. 

It could’ve been anybody or anything calling him away. He knew that he couldn’t trust him– well, he could trust Ardyn to be Ardyn which meant he could only trust him to be… well–

The more he thought about it, the more it all twisted him in circles, and eventually, he began to fall apart. When his train of thought fell apart, he knew he was dozing off. He refused to think about his friends, afraid that he’d waver from the path he’d chosen, but his dreams were not so kind. 

When Ardyn returned to the room, he would find the King curled on his side, years that creased his brow having dropped away as he lay in peaceful slumber, the red nick on his bottom lip still prominent, though scabbed over. 

Noctis had not traveled far. The Chosen had not left their room in fact. Did the fear of being discovered force him to stay hidden within these walls? It mattered little as did much to stem Ardyn’s rage from suffering the Infernian and the indignities he forced himself through to keep the King of Kings from the god’s grasp. 

His clothing was removed to place neatly over the back of a chair. He smelled of the damn fire god’s home; too much smoke and burning sulfur for his tastes. A cloth grabbed from the bathroom and lathered with soap to rid himself of the soot and ash of the volcano. It would be a shame to ruin their clean sheets already. A proper bath could wait once exhaustion and the echoes of that migraine weren’t pulling at his frayed edges. 

Burns stood out ugly, red, and angry upon his flesh. They ached and pained him with every movement of his head, and the soap irritated them enough that he almost hissed. Fortunate maybe that Ifrit had not demanded tribute instead least his whole body be marked such. Bruises on his shoulder were less inflamed, but they were dark, almost black. --Skin warmer to the touch because of the blood pooling there; his black ichor. His arm felt rather stiff as a result. 

So rarely was he ever forced to require rest, but the dredges of his strength were low. Too much for a recently revived coil to take. Suitably cleaned, Ardyn sank down onto the bed beside Noctis admiring his body and expression as he slept. A kiss he stole, focusing on that crimson split in bottom lip that was all his doing; a small symbol of just who the Chosen belonged to. 

Noctis’ sleep was deep as always. When he had been young, he’d often terrified his caregivers– they would think he had stopped breathing altogether, his sleep was so death-like and now he was a direct conduit for the crystal’s power with no buffer, the very light of it permeating his insides just as darkness corroded Ardyn’s. The symmetry was terribly poetic. 

The covers were pulled aside so he could take Noctis into his arms. It felt like a ritual of how they slept beside one another now. It served as a reminder to Ardyn that he had out maneuvered the Infernian for now. The Chosen still remained by his side-- not a tool to be used by meddling gods, drained of essence until he was but a shell...  
At first, Noctis stiffened a bit at Ardyn’s touch– though it was his scent that entered an addled mind; the scent of a bonfire or a hearth burning sweet wood mixed with soap. Even the curve of his chest was familiar now, and Noctis curled into him as he pulled him close. 

There were moments when that tenderness made him forget that he was dealing with a murderer who no longer had regard for human life. He was chained and shackled to a man who had been and continued to be responsible for the greatest pain that Noctis had ever suffered. But there was a part of Noctis that simply couldn’t hold to that anger. He saw himself and what he could have become if not shepherded on his path to his doom. He saw a man thrashing about in pain who could no longer tell kindness from cruelty.  
He woke up briefly after Ardyn had pulled him closer and watched the rise and fall of his breaths. His face was pressed very near to the bruise on his shoulder– and he cataloged it in his mind but said nothing before drifting back to sleep. He held onto Ardyn as though he hoped that his arms alone could soothe whatever had befallen him, though he was as reluctant to be pulled from his slumber as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, Ifrit the Infernian: The only creep who can out-creep Ardyn... and it's only going to get worse for him. :)


	10. Mirror, Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a lull in action as Ardyn and Noctis take precious time to re-charge and make a plan for their next course of action. Ifrit's shadow looms over them, though Noctis is unaware of it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ends up NSFW. Ardyn is almost being loving and tender... *gasp*

The warmth of Noctis’ presence curled against him sated Ardyn’s ever present rage if only for this brief moment. The immortal now far too exhausted in mind and body to think of the ramifications of the thought nor to be able to push it back down out of sight. His eyes were already half lidded and closing by the time his companion came to brief awareness. The Accursed had settled his cheek upon raven colored hair as the temporary oblivion claimed him. 

His body and the daemons decided for him to not awaken for a time pulled into the realm of his dreams which were often not as pleasant as most, but the former Chancellor remained still even as Noctis left him to the bed by himself. Bruises having faded through their rest to little more than a yellowed spot. The burns were not as far along, but less noticeable when the Chosen had first noted them. Ardyn much like his partner was dead to the world in sleep. 

Noctis was completely unsure of how much time had passed when he finally woke up fully, but he felt heavy– as though it had been a very long time. For the first time he could remember, Ardyn was still asleep, and he thought of it as something too precious to shatter. When he was out like that, he looked nothing like the monster– he was just a tired man carrying more than any human ever should. Noctis found himself carding fingers through his hair, pressing soft kisses to the crown of his head as if he thought he could kiss the darkness away. 

There was light in him still, if only a sliver buried deep– and it was worth it to him; to the King of Light. 

He very carefully disentangled himself from Ardyn’s stout limbs and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and hair, try to make himself a little more presentable.  
In the absence of another body the Immortal gave into old habits; pulling the blankets around him-- even dislodging the fitted sheet that separated the bare mattress from the air. Hours more had passed before _finally_ he opened his eyes to the world. As awareness came back to him, the creases of contained manic behavior had etched back into his face. Bruises and burns had healed leaving only tanned, unbroken skin. He shifted to find Noctis already up and about. Ardyn pushed himself up so the blankets pooled around his waist. 

Noctis was relieved to see Ardyn stirring, and he made sure there was food– anything he could get his hands on really. He fussed around with the little mini coffee maker for a bit and once he had it percolating returned to Ardyn’s side, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

He, despite what others may think, was not a particularly great ‘morning’ person. The scent of a pastry caught his attention, though and he'd all but forgotten it was leftover from last night. 

“Room service without informing me?” His voice still raspy with sleep. “Quite inconsiderate don’t you think, your majesty? It pains me to see the line has fallen so far as to not teach the basics of manners.” 

He would not offer Noctis anything that transpired while he was gone if he was not confronted directly. Even then the Accursed would not tell the full extent of the truth. 

“You look pretty rough.” He noted, though didn’t mean to pry just yet. 

“Death does that to you or so I am lead to believe.” 

Ardyn's hand cupped Noctis’ chin, and he stared into those blue eyes and features sharpened by the Crystal’s light. There was no deceit in that face. Just kindness that the Accursed did not know how to take. Grip tightened like Ardyn was ready to break his companion’s jaw, but the tension was released after several tense moments. 

His fingers slid up to caress the king’s cheek before retreating his touch entirely. His resolve remained still to withstand whatever insult Ifrit threw in his direction so that the Chosen remained his and his alone. Noctis was after all his one chance to sever ties to the burden of his fate. 

“–And sorry my manners are lacking. Thought you might want to eat when you woke up. Anybody who sleeps more than me is obviously in need of some TLC.” He added, brows raised. 

Not that he was offering– or maybe he _was_.

He had no idea what it was that Ardyn got up to in his spare time– though he did carry some sense of concern. Then again, it was just as likely that he went out to do whatever his business was and ended up getting jumped by some stray Daemons. Even the ‘Darkness’ of legend had trouble from time to time. He got roughed up– Noctis had seen it.  
Noctis hadn’t actually done anything other than digging out left overs from the night before. He was planning on getting real food in a bit. Might as well live it up in Lestallum before they went to rage against the remaining gods. He had no illusions; the remaining Astrals were the greatest threats. 

He took a breath and forced on a pleasant face. Whatever Ardyn had been through, he’d made up his mind to try to lift his spirits. There was one thing Ignis had always done for him– a simple thing but, it was something and he wanted to show he had learned from it, at least in his own mind... 

“We’ll go find something to eat when you’re ready. _Anything_ you want.” He offered gingerly. 

The sentiment was touching really. Ardyn could not recall a time in recent memory that someone truly cared about his well being. Noctis’ face suggested he was genuine; not lying as he himself might. Everyone else that had shown the Chancellor concern were usually paid to do so or fans of his that were too obsessed with the idea of him or his beauty. Ifrit would have torn the king apart given half the chance. Whatever he endured the day before, Ardyn felt it was worth the price. 

“I do not need to eat.” What would he do? _Starve to death_? **No**. The Daemons would prevent that from happening. Though... the coffee and pastries tempted him greatly. Ardyn did not feel nearly as exhausted as the day before. He probably could have slept longer, but Noctis was adamant that they spend time off their path to indulge in life for a few precious days more. Whatever that would accomplish; it was mostly for Noct’s benefit and not his own. 

He slid out of bed finally, feeling his partner’s eyes upon him still. Had he seen him last evening? The King of Kings had been fast asleep. 

“A proper shower first. Then.. I may be tempted to eat if we can find curry.” Spicy and sweet were his tastes. He picked one of the macaroons left out before devouring it in one bite then disappearing into the bathroom. The door was left open, but his demeanor suggested Noctis should leave him be. 

Curry. He hadn’t expected Ardyn to have the same pallet as Prompto, but he supposed there was something almost fitting in it. Thinking about Prompto—he winced and looked away, though he wouldn’t explain further than that. Noctis pressed his hand to his mouth as he rested his chin and sighed through his nose.  
   
He let Ardyn move about the room without impeding him or grilling him with questions but—there was plenty eating at him now. He had been the one who had insisted on taking their time; on living it up a little before this was all over, but now he wasn’t so sure. He enjoyed Ardyn’s company despite himself, and wondered if that alone was enough to be his downfall.  

Downfall—that had been swift and violent. He almost laughed at the realization that he had been thinking of it in the sense that it could happen—no, it was happening now as his heart ached and he pined after the Accursed’s broad shoulders and Cheshire grin.  

The king settled back on the bed and stretched out, turned just slightly on his side so that he could watch Ardyn as he made his way to take that shower he’d mentioned. Of course he was wondering where he’d gone off to the night before, wondering what the hell had happened that had left him bruised and burned but—for now, there was little good that being oppressively fussy could do for him. There was some dark sickness in his gut though he couldn’t place the source of the dread and why bother trying when _all the world_ was dread now.  

An insufferably long time was taken before emerging with all traces of the fire god’s scent finally scrubbed from Ardyn's form. Wordlessly he dressed in the simple garnet sweater he'd chosen for himself the day before and black jeans. Ardyn could almost pass as normal in them. 

Noctis’ hair was a bit mussed, though he didn’t seem bothered by any of it—no, he would put off any further grooming, which seemed to be his general state of existence. He had nearly dozed off when Ardyn came back to dress himself, and he was left rubbing his eyes and realizing that he hadn’t gotten dressed even though he’d meant to. He got up and squirmed into one of the simple, mono-color T-shirts he’d grabbed, and a pair of pants that couldn’t decide if they were long shorts or short cropped pants, not unlike the ensemble he had sported for most of his original journey.  

He raised an eyebrow as he looked Ardyn over—quite fetching as always and yet– “There may not be any sun, but I don’t know how you plan on being anything but miserable in the heat wearing something like that.”  

“The floodlights irritate them,” Ardyn said simply. It would be all he would offer on the subject. An implication that the misery brought on by the heat was more reasonable than sacrificing more sections of his skin to the bright lights that kept Lestallum a bastion for human society. He pulled down his sleeves; was tempted to wear his gloves, but decided against it. Out of the Aether he pulled his trademark black parasol into existence in sparks of crystalline light. It would provide better coverage than his hat and not appear too suspicious in a world where disease literally fell from the sky. 

Another flash of neon light from his eyes sparked before the oppressive air of his illusionary magic fell over them. He may yet look haggard and rough from the Infernian’s summon, but today the maintenance of the spell did not appear to tax him quite so much. 

**Them** —the Daemons? That was a thought that made Noctis shudder as he considered it and yet he felt he at least understood on some base level. The will of the Astrals and the Crystal itself was tangible inside of him and often hard to stray from. This was where he found himself thinking of camaraderie with Ardyn; because he was just as much of a puppet; just as much a vessel for something that he didn’t have any control over.  

Noctis walked with him and let him guide their choices. It was more than a little weird—moving around without the barrier of Ardyn’s coat and many layers. It made him feel more human, and maybe that wasn’t the kind of thing he should’ve been entertaining.  

“If it was not more effort than it was worth, I would have you wear something a bit more suitable. You look every bit the part of a pauper prince.” It was a tease as he turned on his heels expecting Noctis to follow. 

Outside the hotel, he unfurled the umbrella and hefted it over his shoulder to block out the majority of light from reaching him. It helped. The Daemons were moving more, but not irritated. Not yet. 

Noctis’ presence at his side… Ardyn found himself growing comfortable around it. Evidenced to him when the king would fall a few steps too far behind. He would slow his pace, giving Noctis time enough to catch up. 

This was _**dangerous**_. 

Ifrit had always been a terribly jealous creature. Partners he favored for too many occasions would turn up missing or dead-- because Eos forbid somebody else hold Ardyn’s eye even just for pleasures of their body. He wondered now that if he had not been ostracized by his people if the deity would have killed his queen just so there would be no obstacles between them. 

The smell of food and memory drew him in the direction of the outdoor restaurant where they seated themselves in a shaded area. Any other circumstances it might be considered a date between two lovers, but the Accursed held no illusions. 

Noctis remained at Ardyn’s side rather faithfully. He didn’t really question his own motivations or the fact that Ardyn was and always had been his enemy. It was entirely self-fashioned, and now Noctis believed that he had changed their path; changed the destiny foisted upon them by the Astrals, and for that he was determined to give the Accursed some kind of a chance. He had had plenty of rage towards the man once, mostly on Luna and Prompto’s behalf—but he also knew that the Immortal did what he did almost entirely out of a need to end his own suffering. He couldn’t blame him.  

Surely, anyone with a heart might have been shattered by what he had been through. Even the most kind person might find it in themselves to wreak destruction when so deeply wronged and given the time to think about it.  

It was still on his mind as they settled down to order food, though he kept his attention on his partner’s face rather than anywhere else. The effects of the magic cast over them were unseen, save for the heavy sense of it that he could feel, as though they were in a bubble.  

“You fear the next, do you not?” He offered by way of morbid conversation. A click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he looked the menu over. Ardyn was a terribly observant man. “Drowning is not the best of deaths to experience.” In fact if he had to rank the worst ways to go it would come out in his personal top five. 

“I… I mean. Kinda. Last time I faced Leviathan–” He then finally broke away from Ardyn, unable to look at him. Maybe it was his fear of that memory more than fear of the actual deity.  

He had made it clear time and time again that he didn’t mean to forgive him—that he wouldn’t and yet something about the thought of facing the deity and his loss was rattling him.  

“--And curiously you stayed in the room during my leave of absence.” 

“Yeah I’m scared. She’s massive, and could sweep us away in an instant unless we're at our best.” He tried to make the discussion about tactics as best he could.  A pause as he considered the rest of what Ardyn had said, and he looked exasperated as he spoke through a mouthful of rice. “Where else was I gonna go?”

Ardyn had learned to control the horde slumbering beneath his flesh only through a careful perfecting of it through his long years and the light that remained inside. No other after him would be given the power of light he possessed. The power now was shared between King and Oracle. But if he released that control but for a moment? He would be devoured whole until there was nothing left of Ardyn Lucis Caelum leaving _only_ the monster behind. 

The Immortal merely picked at his food not out of dislike of its flavor but because his thoughts were elsewhere; with what lie ahead of them. Noctis had a point. They would need to be at their best to take on the giant sea serpent of a goddess. She was almost as wrathful as Ifrit with little benevolence for humanity unless they kowtowed to her whims.  
“Last time you faced her was only met in grievous tragedy.” Well Noctis had little to worry about Ardyn killing another one of his loved ones at her altar. He was wise enough to know prodding him further as such would not be beneficial. 

“She can not be placated by any mortal. The first time whence we met she almost claimed my life. Subsequent times… she was rather successful.” If only because he was truly trying to kill her instead of gaining her favor. “And you have defeated her once before... it can only be made more trivial with my aid.” Noctis had held fear yet of the cold embrace of a mortal body giving way, but Ardyn was no stranger to it. It was still unpleasant, but he held no fear of it. 

There _was_ some comfort in the fact that Noctis had defeated her once before, if only barely. Without Luna’s power, he wasn’t so sure he’d have managed but—Ardyn was his Oracle now. He had to remind himself of that. The damned gods would hate it.  

He chewed and swallowed and took a couple of breaths of the humid air. “ _My Oracle_ … They dictate that King and Oracle should stand together always or… whatever. It still holds the balance even if it rips away their control, right?”  

Though he wasn’t entirely sure why it mattered. Noctis had lowered his voice as though he were afraid they might be overheard—though he doubted that there were many that could make any sense out of the subject of their discussion.  What Leviathan was capable of was likely only a fragment of what Bahamut could do; the hidden one, who gave his help only to Noctis’ own blood line for these many long years. He didn’t know enough about him to gauge what kind of encounter they might have, and in the end—Ardyn might be the only one who knew.  

They might die many times before the end, but without the crystal’s power to burn their souls out of existence, they would remain. That seemed to be the unerring truth with both Ardyn and himself. The King let himself stare off into the distance though—in the murky gloom he could only see so far even with the bright floodlights that protected the people. It was loud, almost crushing as the crowd moved around them—And Noctis found himself tiring of it rather quickly.  

Perhaps it was not civilization that he craved, but the creature comforts it allowed.  

“Did you not wish to seek out your friends? Ah how could I forget… you do not wish for the world to see you as you are.” More importantly Noctis had trouble looking at himself in the mirror. In good time _he_ would remedy that. 

Finally as the cake he ordered was brought over did the Accursed take up a certain amount of enthusiasm in their shared meal. A most sated of felines he appeared to be as he took up the fork and sat back more comfortably in his chair. The plate taken from the table to be held closer without the need of bending forward. For once Ardyn drew silent as he just indulged himself and his sweet tooth.

His eyes returned to the table before them, and he realized he had actually managed to mostly clear his plate for a change, and watched with a distant kind of nostalgia as Ardyn indulged in his cake. It was grossly endearing that someone like him enjoyed sweets so much. In fact—there were many things about Ardyn that were perfectly endearing and he was having to try his damnedest to turn a blind eye to them.  

“But all of that’s for later. I still haven’t had that bath I wanted,” He complained with a hint of a tease in his voice.

“Even in a world where there are no servants to cater to his whim, the king finds it within to make demands of others.” 

Simple words spoken in hushed tones drew Ardyn’s attention away from his dessert. A feat not often accomplished. The notion was not a far cry from the awful truth they now lived. An Oracle cursed with the very darkness the Astrals had fought and struggled against. A willing, leading, if not spiteful guide in this unholy arrangement to rage against the very fates themselves. Two roles now whereas he had only had the one. Foils they were forged on the backs of the same damnable coin. 

Lips curled around the last of the cake before utensil was returned to an empty plate. “What precious little balance there is to exist.” A creature of darkness leading a being that embodied the light through the murky shadows of the world. 

Ardyn chuckled lightly before being brought to stand and retreat back to their small haven away from the world where his illusions need not be held in place.  
Noctis didn’t even have the energy to argue with Ardyn as he accused him of demanding he give into his whims—in a way, he probably did. It was just the nature of things and how they interacted; both born of royalty and all that came with it and unable to completely remove themselves from it. This was, he supposed, some truth of that birthright that they shared.  

The walk back to the hotel was sweltering, and the magic veil was as stifling as the crush of people around them. Noctis sighed audibly when they’d made it back to their room, and was glad to have the comfort of a full stomach to allow him to look forward to his bath.    
It wasn’t a new thing for him to find such respite in the simplest of creature comforts. It was something he had learned while on the road with his friends. They could go days without seeing civilization, and so the simplest act of self-care could be treated as something monumental for him.

Boots and garments were removed as he sat upon the bed allowing his companion to ready himself for a bath. The Accursed was not opposed to joining Noctis either, if for one reason alone. A move unwise given that the Infernian turned gaze upon them. It was hard for the Accursed to be brought to care in this moment. Ifrit could rage upon the highest of mountains. Ardyn would still give his attentions to the Chosen one. The King of Kings that was prophesied _for_ him alone. Ifrit was _**unworthy**_ of his king. Not a finger of that god’s hand would be allowed upon Noctis' holy skin.

He was grinning as he undressed, the spark of his youth still undiminished despite the age of the shell it resided in. Noctis no longer held much reservation undressing in front of Ardyn. He didn’t give it a second thought, only made for the bathroom and started shedding clothing. He certainly wouldn’t mind if his companion decided to join him, but also wasn’t going to do anything other than… perhaps beckon with his eyes a bit.  

 

Noctis would be unable to enter his bath before the king found himself forced roughly face forward into the sink's counter. Hard, unforgiving marble dug into skin as Ardyn held him in place. Noctis wasn’t that worried. He had just about gotten ready to go run the water properly when Ardyn was suddenly upon him, pinning him to the marble counter before the mirror. He focused in on the Accursed’s face rather than his own—foreign to him, still—and raised an eyebrow. He looked rather predatory, and the warmth of his larger body pressed against him was familiar. Comforting.  Ardyn's hand found purchase on his slender neck to keep those eyes of his upon his reflection and that of the creature that kept him now caged by silken touch. Disdain for his Majesty was evident in the mirror’s reflection yet there was something more there now-- if one cared to look. 

Demeanor had shifted in the fallen king. No longer the tamed beast delighting in dessert, but now a very real threat ensnaring Noctis with no escape until Ardyn _**allowed**_ it. 

“…Can I _do something_ for you, Ardyn?” He asked with a low but playful lilt in his voice.

Still he avoided gazing at himself. Most curious of afflictions to not wish to see yourself in the mirror. He was plagued by the singular question of _why_. Did the Chosen have issues reconciling his two images of the inner and outer self? Ardyn found the sharper features, the lack of boyish cheeks, and the lines upon his face all the more attractive.  
Presses of his teeth and lips were delivered upon the sensitive flesh of Noctis’ neck as he watched their reflections. What more did they have for company than each others along this path? No other being would understand the burden, the weight of immortality. A hum at the utterance of words. How easily Noctis accepted his advances. Even when he was king, Ardyn had been an aggressive lover prone to seek out his partners at his leisure demanding that they too in turn be as Noctis was; accepting and willing. 

“For you to favor me, is all.” Dangerous knowledge he knew that Noctis did enjoy his attentions. Not unaware that his companion delighted in seeing the desire the immortal Accursed had for him even if it was only for the carnal, base needs. That Noctis fought against his absolute dominance and gave him a smart-laced mouth only made Ardyn more determined to have him over and over. To pollute him until the gods were well aware of whom _possessed_ the Chosen now.

Fingertips traced down the channels that outlined muscles and the raised areas of scars. By now he knew his lover well; could imagine his naked body with eyes closed as well as all of the areas that would make Noctis moan and squirm under his ministrations. All the roughness he required to be brought to _tears_. How utterly fucked out of his mind he could be brought to be. This time he would derive his pleasure from one thing alone. He would not allow Noctis to move further than where he was pinned. 

Noctis remained as he was, though he was on edge. Ardyn had a reason for most everything he did, even when it was strange—even when it was cruel. He groaned and sighed as Ardyn pressed in closer to him and he tightened his grip on the edge of the counter, wincing just a bit.  

Ardyn's hand was brought down to trace up his inner thigh halting movement at his partner’s cock to take him in hand to stroke in languid, unhurried pace. 

“To show me that delightful face you make as you come undone.” So Noctis could be made to see it too. His mouth brought to a junction of shoulder to neck to bite and tear at skin until Ardyn tasted copper and shards of crystal light. 

“That’s what you want?” He tried to keep some level of amusement in his tone, tried to hold his composure—but then he arched into Ardyn’s touch, head lolling to one side as teeth sharply sank into his skin. Before he was aware of it, he saw the dark tinge of blood on his lover’s lips and sucked in several trembling breaths that became whimpers at the spike of pain.  

It wasn’t like he could die—Ardyn really could tear him apart if he wanted to, and the crystal would just piece him back together. He shuddered at the thought, morbidly amused—interested—always drawn in by the strange mix of sensuality and violence that he offered.  

Noctis squirmed in the Accursed’s grip, his expression shifting between the obvious heat of arousal and pain; two things he was accustomed to-- and he found one often heightened the other.  

“– I. usually do this with the light off y'know.” It was hard to focus when he could see himself like this--  

“Ah but why? You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Ardyn would not allow him to reach for the light and dim the sight in front of him. Any attempt made would quickly be cut off.  
Ever since he’d emerged from the aether within the heart of Eos, he had avoided his own reflection as much as possible—only shaved once since then because he simply couldn’t bring himself to look himself in the eye. Ten years gone in the blink of an eye—and his mind refused to make sense of it. There was nothing he could do. He didn’t see himself as he was now, with these sharpened features and bags under his eyes.  

“… _Ardyn_.” His voice trembled despite himself, and he could feel himself arching into the hand slipped between his legs. There was no getting out of it. He would do whatever Ardyn wanted in the end, just like he always did.  

The Accursed was an admirer of beauty and Noctis’ body was no exception to this. Lips stained in crimson red painting wherever they touched along his lover’s spine in the same vivid hue as small rivlets of red fell from the small wound he inflicted. Oh how he could tear Noctis apart limb from limb, but it would be such a _terrible_ waste.  
“Your body is something to be admired, your Majesty.” It would be to capture Ardyn’s attentions and desires so thoroughly. The man beneath also held appeal too, but emotions and feelings were not so readily available anyway. 

Just the way his own name fell from Noctis’ lips was enough to send a shudder through him. That slight tremble of insecurity and pleasure. Had the man before him been born during his reign as King, he would have made such a lovely, favored consort. But this is what they had: the darkness at the end of days where Ardyn could be rid of his shackles of immortality and now, too the world of the damnable gods. 

Two fingers dug into the small wound he had made-- forcing more blood to the surface to coat his fingers. He had no interest in sating himself for the moment, just to force Noctis to confront his reflection as the Accursed tore him down. Crystalline shards in crimson made his fingers numb as he used them to trace along his lover’s entrance before pressing inside to join the pace still set by his other hand. 

Noctis groaned, a soft whimper at the vicious press of fingers against his wound made him nearly weak in the knees. His eyes had gone glassy, lips parted and mouth slightly agape as he drew in shaking breaths, watching the movements of Ardyn’s mane of wild curls as blood-slicked fingers slipped down behind him and then _inside_ of him. He clenched his teeth and let out a soft little snarl of a sound. It was rough—wouldn’t stay slick long, but he supposed the eroticism was in the principle of the thing. Ardyn did so love his drama, after all.   

“Gods, Ardyn—has anyone ever told you? _You're—so_ …” He was cut off by the contradictory bluntness of teeth tearing into the thin skin over his spine and it tore a sudden, sharp cry from him. He hadn’t expected it for one, and—the pain was sudden and real, and caused him to grind his hips harder into the sanctuary of Ardyn’s hand

Gentle kisses pressed in a semi circle around the nape of Noctis’ neck, but with another sharp bite delivered right along his spine enough to break skin once more. Warm breath lingered against the small wound. “Most exquisite Noct. Such sweet sounds you make for me, hmm? See, you've nothing to be ashamed of.”

For a few moments, the king fell apart in whimpers and gasps, trying to regain himself as he also digested what Ardyn had to say.  

“Ashamed… isn’t really the word.” He started. Noctis frowned and watched Ardyn’s movements in the mirror—that was what he was more interested in. Dear gods, the lust in his eyes; the hunger—it was enough to shake him to the core. Noctis would’ve been utterly weak for a man like him in the days when he had been free to do as he pleased in Insomnia. If Ardyn hadn’t been trying so hard to make Noctis hate his guts when they’d first met– 

Noctis arched his back a bit to make access easier, found himself easily bending and molding to what the other man desired. He always did. Maybe there was something in that that frightened him, but he couldn’t deny it.  

His fingertips were white against the marble countertop, slack-jawed in the moment.  

‘if… you say so. I. My. My body’s nothin’ next to yours. I–“ He couldn’t formulate a clear thought. Like this, Noctis was at his most pure. He had no grip on his usual defenses. He was nothing but the most basest of his carnal desires, completely on display for Ardyn to devour.  
   
"Whatever--I want you _so_ bad.”  

“Hmm?” A small click of his tongue at words left unfinished. It should placate his ego to know that Noctis desired him so thoroughly as evidence by the neediness of a lustful body, but Ardyn wanted to draw out those heated confessions. Make Noctis hear himself give them life so there could be no denial. 

The plea was almost enough for the immortal to lose his resolve and give into the urge to rut. Almost. 

He **would** be cruel. Deny what Noctis so clearly wanted in the moment: to be thoroughly fucked and possessed by him. Temptation lie there pressed against a countertop begging for something more substantial than what he was being given. Trembling legs that threatened to give way, the flush of arousal over pale skin, and the hopeless abandon to seek out the immortal’s touch were all seductive notes that Ardyn almost gave into. He hid nothing on his face during his carnal pursuits. Allow Noctis to see how much he was desired and in turn aroused his lover. 

“It is rude not to complete one’s thoughts.” His voice was husky and low against Noctis’ ear as his hands continued to bring him closer and closer to the edge. 

“I—meant to say that you’re beautiful,’ Noctis uttered weakly, breath catching as he tried to decide which way his hips wanted to angle and simply could not. He was utterly at the mercy of Ardyn’s hands. When Noctis felt something he felt it fully even if he often hid it deep beneath layers of other things—and this was no exception. When he engaged in such physical affairs, he gave himself over entirely. It was the only time that he could let his guard down without becoming embarrassed; the only time the truth of himself came showing through without any attempt at trying to be something he was not—and now, that part of him belonged only to Ardyn.  

Noctis had to say it. He believed it, felt it in his bones—but also wanted to distract from all this talk of himself. He could hardly accept his reflection let alone that Ardyn found him desirable. Wait—that had only just sunken in. This form that was strange to him and felt like it didn’t belong was desirable to Ardyn. How could he hate it? 

A kiss given to the Chosen’s jawline before the Accursed used the halo of black hair to partially hide as he allowed the mask of a man he wore to crack and crumble revealing the coal _black_ that consumed the precious white of his eyes. Black tar like tears streamed from his face in a mockery of sadness and grief. Fingers removed from teasing his lover open to smear the liquid plague on their tips. If Noctis wanted him so badly, he could have all of him. He could heal him if the Scourge took hold after all.

For the first time, as his lover’s head dipped behind the mop of his dark hair, Noctis looked into his own eyes—paler than he remembered, features more defined and sharp. He had thought he might look more like his father, but—maybe it was his mother, Aulea who he resembled more. He wished he remembered her better– 

Noctis felt something wet and thick; sticky like honey on his skin—had no real way to decide what it was unless Ardyn had had some proper lubricant on hand after all. He didn’t think anything of it—let out an unabashed moan as slicked fingers pressed back inside of him—that is of course until Ardyn spoke.  

It did something strange to him; not a sharp, stinging pain like he’d imagined would come from something of the sort but instead a deep, throbbing ache that made him press back in search of something to alleviate the sensation—of something invading his very blood. He whimpered, expression screwed up in pain and pleasure laced as one as Ardyn spoke again, urging him to look at himself.  

At the first admonition, Noctis scoffed and rolled his eyes—still enough fight in him to be sharp-tongued and yet; what harm was there in admitting what he felt? 

Panting, flushed—he was every bit the prized, pampered concubine to a king greater than he could ever imagine being. Ardyn held within him the record of everything that had happened around him for two thousand years, and by some ugly act of fate, they were here together now. Again, he looked into his own pale eyes and tried to see what Ardyn saw. Hand came up to graze the Accursed’s cheek, knowing that whatever he was—the Scourge itself and so much more was working deep into him and he… simply didn’t care.  

Hand returned now, using the black ichor to ease passage as the visage of Ardyn as nothing more than a man re-surfaced. “I wonder does it taint you? Or can you feel the crystal’s light rousing to fight it?” His kisses and affections terribly gentle even lavishing the still bleeding marks. 

"Taint me, whatever. Make me yours. If this is what you want me to see, I’ll look.” Anything to see through Ardyn’s eyes for a moment; to understand him just that bit more.    
Laughter dark and brief came unbidden at those words. Thoughts that made Noctis so enduring a subject. It wove into the core of Ardyn forming a stronger attachment to this creature imbued with crystalline light. His lips left a kiss upon a cheek. 

“You have always been mine, Noct.” Even before his birth the Accursed had already staked a claim to his life upon him. No, the gods had seen to it that no matter what they did they would inevitably be drawn to one another. The only passing decree of theirs that had ever been done Ardyn a favor, but it was not enough to spare them for the absolution coming to claim their lives. 

Stroking motions becoming rougher as his grip tightened and paid generous attention to every pressure point along his lover’s cock. “Look at yourself, Noctis.” Cheek used as a guiding force where hands where otherwise occupied. A gaze turned forward so the mirror could not be escaped now. “How could I not find beauty in you?” 

Finally Noctis was doing what Ardyn wished of him since beginning this little encounter of theirs. He faced the daunting image of a man trapped a decade within a crystal for the whims and fancies of the unmerciful gods. That ugly, damnable scheming of divine beings may have made the Chosen this way, but the Immortal Accursed saw something else in that face aged: hope. A chance at the death long denied him. Now though Noctis truly was slowly becoming his companion and certainly already his lover. Even if they often loathed and despised one another. 

Who else would the fallen king have stood ground and waltzed across a cliff’s edge against Ifrit for? Not that the man writhing in pleasure beneath his fingertips would know such things. An awfully touching pair they made with cheeks pressed against one another; eyes facing the glassy surface of the mirror. If not for the sinister undertone between them it could be mistaken as romantic even. 

A fleeting thought that after Bahamut fell would it stand that the two kings were the only gods in Eos?

The fallen king watched, enraptured; deriving his own pleasure as Noctis came undone by hands working simultaneously upon the tip of his lover’s cock and pointed efforts to keep rubbing over his pleasure point within. Though he may not be participating as he normally did, the Daemons were quieting. A mind far too distracted to give them heed or thought. Ardyn could almost feel something more there on the tip of his tongue that wasn’t hatred, spite, or any of the malice he knew. 

“Come for me.” Teeth sank back over the wound inflicted upon his companion’s shoulder reopening the tender wound that was just starting to try to scab over. His gaze turned upwards to a shared reflection. 

That sense of invasion—was it just in his head? Noctis felt as though he was falling to bits; splintering in Ardyn’s grasp as though he were coming apart entirely. What was left of the murmuring in his head bled away, and all there was left was _Ardyn_.  

Noctis moaned and arched, grip tightening further on the counter. His knees trembled visibly as he felt himself building closer to that peak, having been dragged there with almost agonizing slowness by his partner. He knew that Ardyn took some great pleasure in seeing him go to pieces, but there was something happening inside of him that nearly put him off of it all. He couldn’t focus, and his mind and body were not exactly in sync.  

He was giving in, falling over the edge as he began to speak, punctuated by moans and growls.  

“Yours, Ardyn? Did you watch me? How many times did you use that magic… just to get close?” He wasn’t sure where the thought had come from or why, almost as if it had been by osmosis. A rough, low laugh left him as he jerked forward into the Accursed’s hand, lips parting as he lost track of everything altogether and reached his climax with a few strangled gasps.  

He cursed softly, slumping forward as he tried to catch his breath and stop his head from spinning.  
   
It was dark. It was fucked up. It was creepy—but Noctis was fixated on the idea of Ardyn having always thought of him as belonging to him. Of course; why else would he do what he had done? What other motivation? He’d felt entitled to Noctis’ very existence after waiting for so long. So had many others. His own father, the gods, the citizenry—they had all in their own way made choices for him. In the end though, perhaps Ardyn was the only one he truly thought was worthy of that stance.  

He had suffered for thousands of years. An end to that: some sort of peace was all he wanted, wasn’t it? 

That dark laughter shook him again for a moment, head resting on his arms folded on the counter, eyes peering sharply from the shade of his hair.    
“More than you will ever know, Noct.” 

More than Ardyn cared to count as he checked in at every stage of Noctis’ life. He was too precious of a resource to lose. Two thousand and more years spent brewing and awaiting his birth. The hope that would grant his leave of this stretched existence he now lived. No. He had left nothing to chance with this prince of the Lucian line. The gods had given him as a parting gift whispered as a title alone leaving him to wonder how the King of Kings would come to him. Dreams, plans, and his very life tied to this one faceless man. 

If the Accursed would ever think of owing Ifrit gratitude it would be for the sole reason of informing him of the Chosen’s birth. Even he in his infinite wisdom and long years had only speculation to go by. Educated guesses on when this King of Kings would present himself. The Astrals would know, but they had kept silent. Only the Infernian, the very god he sought to keep Noctis from, had parted with centuries’ old secret. 

Only he had claim on this king’s life. No others would be allowed to possess Noctis so thoroughly especially now. A young immortal collapsed so spent in his hold heaving for breath as his body trembled; threatening to fall prey to gravity itself. 

Hands no longer occupied with tearing the king apart with pleasure and pain now brought him to standing so he was pressed to Ardyn’s chest. Strength of his grip kept Noctis from sagging in his hold as they embraced. He had given no other the same amount of his attention in all his long years. It was an obsession and fixation that had only grown and taken on new forms. Those eyes so defiant stared back drawing him in. 

Ardyn did not want to allow himself a rogue thought that maybe Noctis was starting to mean more to him than just a means to his own end, even if he knew it was so-- Evidenced by how much he knew he lavished attentions and affections upon the Chosen that were not entirely pointedly cruel. 

Time alone would tell if the Scourge that had entered his companion would take hold or if the full of the Crystal’s light would burn it out. A kiss claimed as thoughts wandered. A demand to grant access to tongue and teeth. A celebration of his original intent complete. 

“The gods forced you into the body you now possess. Do not forget that. It was they that stole that decade of your life and proclaimed you the True King.” Fingers traced along idly on pale flesh bared and spoke that Ardyn cared little about what the gods wanted; only that he found Noctis attractive and desirable as he was now. It was evident by how quickly he fell into his lusts when given slightest provocation around him. 

\--A favored concubine of a fallen king. 

“You have made yourself quite dirty, your majesty. Might I suggest you remedy that?  
This was well, a bit… weird. Noctis was used to Ardyn being a terribly demanding if not selfish lover—He reveled in laying him out, in having him writhing beneath him and yet this time, he did not make any movements to _take_. He let himself lean back in the strong embrace that pressed his back flush to the elder King’s chest, and blinked—a bit bemused as he glanced at him in the mirror. 

Well, he _had_ wanted a bath. 

Had Ardyn really just meant to show him how beautiful he thought he was? Well, if nothing else he had made certain to clear it up that the feeling was mutual—and he felt like that was at least some kind of pay back, weak as it might be. 

Maybe he realized, it was to further redirect him onto their shared path as well. Noctis knew that Ardyn couldn’t afford to have his thoughts straying now; he couldn’t have him getting too comfortable with the idea of sitting and wasting away. 

Slowly, he squirmed around in Ardyn’s arms and pressed their chests together, grinning as he nuzzled into the Accursed’s thick mane of curls. 

Noctis had lived his life surrounded and beloved by a tight-knit group, but he had never been able to let someone in and have them truly understand what he felt; what he experienced daily. It both pleased and frightened him that Ardyn did. He understood, he knew what it was to carry the burdens of loss and pain that only came with a pre-determined destiny. 

He could feel so light, so free in his presence, just as he could make him feel trapped and frightened. Noctis had begun to learn how to remove him from those things, taking away some of the power that Ardyn held over him. 

“…Ooops. Looks like I got some on you.” There wasn’t an ounce of sincerity in his little ‘apology’ and he considered it more of an invitation to join him as he peeled himself away to start running warm water to fill the large tub in the room. 

He still felt a bit strange, heady– as though something had changed in him, but he wasn’t sure what it was and couldn’t count it as altogether bad. Not just yet. Time would tell what it would do to him, indeed–

Ardyn was mistaken thinking such loving affections as just Noctis being himself. The Chosen was very much so a lover that demanded cuddling and attention in the aftermath of his orgasm. Not that Ardyn was not prone to bouts of whimsy on occasion when a partner had kept his interests. To that end the king was perfect in that aspect. The type that in his past Ardyn would not have tired of. So little had changed in that manner of his ways from then to now. 

Of course he had a weakness of his hair being touched. He barely registered the stickiness drying in the air now shared upon him as a result. A pity since he had just bathed before their small outing into the city. Noctis was a most greedy of companions. He thrived on touches and attention. A partial smile given when the king pointed out the devious underhanded trick to get what he wished out of the Accursed. 

“And not an ounce of remorse. Whatever shall your dear subjects think of you.” It was not the type of bath Ardyn was used to indulging. As Chancellor he had always made it a grand affair with various scents of his liking added to the water along with oils and candlelight for there was little he wouldn’t do in excess. Yet none of these things were readily available anymore. Extravagant luxuries that could not be afforded in a world so filled with despair and hopelessness. 

“Let ‘em think whatever,” Noctis teased as he watched Ardyn, vaguely amused. 

He gave a playful, teasing nip to Noctis’ neck. “If his majesty desired me to join he need only ask politely.” But he would not bar his lover from attempting such a bold maneuver again. It was part of what he found intriguing; that streak of defiance and strong will that made itself known from time to time. 

Water filled to the appropriate level Ardyn was finally moved to action settling himself into its depths and making himself comfortable against the large tub’s side. His legs splayed open just enough for another person to sit lavishly between them. An elegant motion of his finger beckoned his partner to join him with a minute crook of it and half-lidded demanding eyes.

He watched as he moved away and sank into the warmth of the water. Noctis was given pause. He was still tingly, a bit fuzzy-minded from the orgasm, though he had mostly recovered already. He followed his companion and tip-toed into the basin before sinking down into place where he was clearly being invited. His pale skin seemed to lay perfectly against the elder man’s, and he reveled in Ardyn’s skin against his own as always. 

The King let out a long, low sigh that was almost a moan as he leaned back until his head rested gently against Ardyn’s broad shoulder, hands resting gingerly on his thighs. 

These moments _had_ to give him pause: the complexity of their alliance was never lost on him; there was much to do, still—but he wanted to focus on what was in front of him. 

Absently, Noctis lifted one of Ardyn’s hands, larger than his own—and brushed his fingertips gently over the lines of his palm. 

“I was lucky growing up. I was never really alone but… you know, no one really understood. They led me around like they were afraid of me sometimes. Maybe they were just afraid of what the truth was going to do to me. I wonder if… they all knew the prophecy.” It was the only thing that made sense, anyway. 

Or maybe he’d been around Ardyn for too long, and it was starting to twist his mind. Noctis went quiet then, contemplating as he let the warmth soak into his bones. Being like this was not something he’d ever expected. Aside from Luna, any idea of having a relationship was more or less off the table for him. He knew what the Power of Kings had done to his father and what it was going to do to him—it would’ve been cruel for him to allow anyone to have feelings for him and… yet here with Ardyn, as fucked up and twisted as it all was, he was free from that kind of guilt. They were both doomed. Let Ardyn be his **last** sin. 

So terribly close to pretending they were a real couple without the dreaded destiny that chased after their shadows or the animosity set between them. Though Ardyn could still appreciate the position they found themselves in. Despite all things that he was, it was always a pleasant sensation to have another person pressed against you. Humans were dreadfully social creatures even ones like the fallen king whom had precious little humanity left residing in their bones. 

A small, quiet hum as Ardyn rested his chin in turn on raven hair. By now Noctis’ scent was familiar to him like the night air of the Myrlwood after a summer storm. Those were pleasant memories in his mind, though now the forest was no longer as he recalled it. Eyes half lidded in a rare moment of peace that opened a bit more to observe Noctis’ idle touches upon his hand. He allowed it not moving his limb further wandering what was it the Chosen was searching for.

They were reminiscing now or rather Noctis was indulging him with more stories of his youth and the inner workings of his mind. “You would be foolish to think they were not aware of the prophecy. The story has been retold countless times down the royal line. Your late lord father would have heard the Draconian’s voice just as clearly as any Oracle for he had a tie to the crystal.” Why else would Regis try to shelter Noctis from his horrible fate? 

The muddled possibility of his friends and loved ones knowingly sending him to die was almost enough to sour Noctis' mood, and yet it was… a sneaking suspicion he’d kept from manifesting at all simply by trying not to think about it too much. It was so easy to put his loved ones on a pedestal after all. 

Though in Ardyn's time, it had been he who kept all others in the dark of what awaited him upon his task’s completion. He knew the ascension would kill him. His brother and father, however, were not informed of the price he would pay to heal the people. Good intention it was that ended up being turned against him in the end by the treacherous blade of his brother. That thought alone made him reach out to place a tight bruising grip on Noctis’ side. Izunia. He had taken what the gods had not. 

His crown. His queen. His life. 

Noctis sighed and let out a little grunt as Ardyn’s fingertips gripped his hip with startling force. Something must’ve been bothering him though really; he didn’t blame him.  
That Noctis was born of that bloodline was the sole reason of the Accursed’s spite towards him. Even in this tranquil moment shared between them he debated on sliding a blade between his ribs and tainting the water in morbid crimson. 

His movement as sudden and almost violent as he grabbed a hold of a washing cloth and soap before placing them into Noctis’ hands with a demanding look about him like a king requiring the services of one charged with his every whim and care. “It’s only _fair_ after the mess you have so graciously made of me.”

There was any number of things that could’ve set him off; they were walking on surprisingly dangerous ground, carrying out a quest that could be brought to fail at any time. 

He grumbled a bit, taking what had been placed in his hands and shifting forward so that he could turn and face Ardyn. 

Water sloshed as he moved until he was kneeling between the older man’s knees and lathered the cloth before he smoothed it over bronzed skin. Noctis hoped that it was quite clear that he was doing this only because he wanted to; not because he’d been told to. 

“Yeah, yeah I know—I have to clean up my messes or whatever.” He felt rather a lot like it was just avoidance.  
Whether born of trying to amend the mess he had made of Ardyn or a simple gesture because of conscious decision made of will, the fallen king would enjoy the sensation none the less. Being treated as the king he thought of himself as still soothed the ruffled feathers brought about by wretched memories of betrayal and loss. His madness revealed from the veil more readily when he thought of his nearly endless suffering. It was all he wished to be free of truly. The burden placed upon a mortal man that he should not have had to bear. All because the gods _could not be bothered_ to do their wretched jobs as protectors of this world. 

Sensations of soap, lather, and the warmth of Noctis’ hands beneath the cloth that removed evidence of dirt and their most recent lustful passions. The Chosen placed into a position few ever held with the Accursed even when he had been mortal. Few lovers he allowed to bathe with him and even fewer still had he given privilege to clean him so. It was an intimate act for a mad king and to train a partner in his comforts, vices, kinks, and other in-betweens a most gracious of honors. Those who had ever been in such a position could be counted upon a singular hand. 

Noctis sighed as his hands moved over Ardyn’s skin, a small frown on his lips. He’d push him if he had to—if Ardyn was going to give him this time then he’d make the most of it. There was still so much he wanted to understand—if he could only pry it out of him. He hated that sometimes, the only way he could get anything out of Ardyn but bitterness was by playing to his whims and desires which constantly edged him out of his own comfort zone. It remained to be seen whether or not that was a good thing. 

“So. We have enough to stay here for a while. And I can hunt to keep us comfortable easy.” It was a paltry sort of thing, left hanging in the air without direction. 

He knew the Accursed one was tired; he was already long disenchanted with this life and what It could offer. It was silly to think that Noctis alone could do anything to change that. He could think of no other way to say that he simply wanted to spend more time with Ardyn as though it might justify what he was doing; prove to himself that there was more of that light still left inside the twisted mind of the fallen king—prove that siding with him had been the righteous thing to do. 

A consequence of lingering in the company of each other, Ardyn began to read between the lines of Noctis’ offer. An intricate dance they participated in of leaving the one to wonder where the other’s true intentions lie. No stranger was he of his lover’s desire to pursue more time between them before their fated end came to greet them. What had Noctis to gain from it? That question perplexed him most of all. Many a time the True King reassured him that he had not yet forgotten the promise made between them.

Motion made to halt ministrations so the immortal gained full undivided attention of his companion. “A promise was made to give you time, nay? Do whatever it is that you desire, but I have access to funds enough so your undertaking of an occupation would not be necessary.” What was he to do with stockpiles of gil when he was dead? Money would do nothing for a soul that could not be brought to care about the plane where the living resided. 

The grip that kept Noctis from finishing his task removed. “Wish to spend more time saying your good-byes to this world? I had, after all, twisted it all just for you.” Ardyn pried as he always had even when he revealed so little of himself. 

The world at large would know little of Ardyn Lucis Caelum. A name struck from the very annuals of history, but Noctis may come to know him better than any other. The man fated to end burdened, stretched existence would be the very same that may have a glimpse into the inner workings of the man beneath the Daemonic creature.  
For a moment, Noctis felt a cold chill at what Ardyn was saying. He knew that there was no way to be sure about well—any of it, really. He wanted to trust him and the truth was that Ardyn had done very little to ever lie to him at least directly. Tricks and illusions were something else entirely. If he said something, he meant it. 

He gave pause for a moment and then sighed, leaning forward to brush his dampened fingers back through Ardyn’s hair. 

Time stretched on, and it felt like forever and yet it hadn’t been long at all—this was natural to him now, and he felt the warmth and comfort one might have felt when being with a lover though that made it all seem a bit as though he were being naive. Surely, the Accursed like to play with the idea that Noctis was a fool in his mind, but he was not. It was only by understanding the darkness that Ardyn was capable of that he could really begin to nurture the specific feelings he was beginning to have to acknowledge though– he had never been good at speaking such things aloud and might never be. 

He let it happen as it was and asked nothing more of the situation. 

“Ardyn,” He began haltingly. “Just for a while, forget everything. You might even remember how to have fun.” 

There was no teasing or malice in it, Just Noctis—bare as he knelt before him and offered a small, boyish smile unbefitting his more angular features. 

Living here, like this, he could do. Forgetting if only for a little while…

Let the days pass, and let them bring with them a strange sort of lull. The world as it had been once was long dead, but there was still hope still in the hearts of people. He spent most of his time with a hat or hood pulled low over his features when he wasn’t glued to Ardyn’s side. Once, Noctis glimpsed a fearsome woman who he was sure was Iris Amicitia, but he made his way to give her a wide berth. He wasn’t ready for them; not until he could say without a doubt that he could save them not only from the end of the world—but from fate itself. 

If not, he would simply die to bring the dawn and end his and Ardyn’s suffering. There was no other ending to be had; not really. 

Nights were spent wrapped in the accursed’s arms, sometimes muffling cries into pillows—sometimes simply laying awake late into the night, nibbling at what sweets and snacks they could find and enjoying a now comfortable quiet between them.


	11. Infection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis settles into a routine with Ardyn in Lestallum, but their relative peace is brought to a close by a singular newspaper headline. 
> 
> Upon their decision to make haste for the coast, a most dark revelation is made that could end their plans prematurely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : There is dubious consent at the beginning of this chapter involving Ifrit's machinations.

Ardyn had made a mistake. 

Ifrit could feel it now, the darkness of the Scourge seeping into the young King in Ardyn's possession. There were secrets the dark deity kept that none would ever know about the Plague's origins; how he had given it a share of his power to mutate it into the true threat that it was now. The Daemons were not Ardyn's creation, only the unfortunate children that he had had to adopt against his will; to absorb into himself and become something more than human. 

It had all been part of Ifrit's plan to freeze beloved Oracle-King in time and keep his affections forevermore. He did not understand then, or even now some two thousand and ten odd years later why some mortals seemed to value their mortal coil; their ability to perish from the world. It was the only thing that yet held any terror for him as a deity. 

Now, it was a fear quite realized; made reality by the unerringly focused prince of Lucis, now King. He had felt nothing but glee at the downfall of the other Astrals, for they had wronged him and left him in exile for millennia much like Ardyn himself. His pleasure and giddyness had turned to ash in his mouth though at the darkening realization that he might be next. 

At first, he had tried to understand what Ardyn saw in the idea of this death; the idea that it could bring peace and release from an empty eternity. He did not after all, want all of his machinations revealed. He pretended to feel no fear at all in the matter of this purported death. 

Did they really think gods could die? They simply took another form, powers and forms diminished for a time and yet... he did not sense those who had fallen at these two's hands any longer at all. That made Noctis worse than a Daemon; worse than anything that had yet been created on Eos. More powerful even then they. 

What had Bahamut thought this end would bring? The Draconian had a love of demanding prices for his aid, and even Ifrit could not help but think that he had gone too far this time. He had pushed their chosen champion to the brink, and they would all suffer for it now. Half of their number lay slain already. The time may be coming when he would finally lower himself to appearing before the most secretive of their number but... for now, he only watched. 

He now had a tether to Noctis Lucis Caelum's body and soul. The Scourge was incubating inside of him, slipped inside from Ardyns' morbid curiosity. The Crystal's light could combat it and keep it from taking hold, but it did not eliminate it entirely. What a strange, fascinating turn of events. 

From a distance, he drifted through the crowd in his lovely human form, even then a vision among mortals and yet—he could go unseen if he so wished. Unseen by all but the one he called out to. An angel was still an angel to a man, even one as fallen as himself. 

Noctis was none the wiser to his presence, especially not in a crowd like this. What a blessing that he was alone; Ardyn would've sensed him in a moment, likely. Instead, he followed the Chosen King like a ghost; a wisp of vapor on the humid air that clung to him. Hands that would offer only the sensation of goosebumps in their current form moved over Noctis' shoulders. Strange and out of place for a sweltering day in Lestallum. 

Ifrit watched with glee as he lifted his head, dusty blue eyes searching for the source and finding nothing. Of course, the King of Kings was more in-tune to the presence of the otherworldly than most. He led him away from the crowd with the same soft whispers of desire that he had offered in the battle against Ramuh, into the darkness of a side street that smelled of stale steam and refuse. 

"You're dreaming," His voice assured him gently, and at that, Noctis' eyes seemed to glaze over—his dreams were vivid things, multifaceted. Often threatened to undo him in the moments when he could not distinguish one from the other. 

Into the ruins of a tall building, door standing open—occasionally occupied by squatters he was led, and now the shimmering form of Uriah, Ifrit's human form stepped from a stitch between worlds. Noctis did not know him, could not recognize him, but he pulled him along—fingertips wandering the bemused King's face, feeling the flutter of his pulse beneath the graceful column of his throat. 

A dream—a beautiful, haunting one at that. Noctis leaned into the touch and the unnatural heat enveloping him, breath coming a bit more ragged as Uriah's form pressed against him, pressed him into the dark soot of the plague that coated the walls here. Of course, his own darkness was hidden just from view but—it wouldn't matter much now, he'd addled the poor thing's brain so much. Magic was a fascinating thing, an easy way to wrap an otherwise sharp mind in cotton. 

"Who're...you?" Noctis knew he was familiar, yes—but there was no real way to focus enough to know why. 

Especially not as the monster's clawed fingernails slipped beneath the hem of his T-shirt with a disturbing level of gentleness. He would leave no visible marks—only one, and it would be something unperceived by most humans. 

"Uriah, is what I'm called sweet Lord of Light," All was honey, purred into a willing ear who had long given over to the warmth of carnal pursuits. 

Noctis nodded at that, a soft groan on his lips as he arched into the touch, the heady purr of the deity's soft voice in his ear. He would've questioned further, but he'd been made terribly compliant by the same magic that had once made human offerings dance to their deaths in ecstasy before Ifrit. 

With all the gentleness that the beast in human form was capable of, he turned Noctis around and reached around to unfasten the belt on his hips, second hand clothes peeled away to expose skin as he shuddered and trembled. Ifrit's own version of the Plague was summoned forth, dripping from blackened fingertips against porcelain skin-- 

And he did not wait for permission to take. The King was bent over a dusty old desk, long forgotten—and he did not fight. 

An immortal hand jammed itself into Noctis' mouth as he cried out, and the other hand gripped with impossible tightness as he took his pleasure from the King of Kings, soft, dark laughter as chimes punctuating his wild movements. There were other ways he could've invaded Noctis' body, but none so fitting—none so vile as this. 

Ifrit could feel his essence seeping into Noctis and doing battle with the Crystal's light—overtaking what Ardyn himself had recently seeded inside of him. Once, twice, a third time—Ifrit did not stop until he had poured as much of himself as he was able, and left the chosen one raw and aching, a mess of plague dust and sweat; and the memory that no mortal man could leave him so sated, so utterly decimated-- 

Against his ear, Uriah spoke again over gasps and mewls. "You will not remember, but you will know my voice from here on out." 

Noctis was no longer in the streets of Lestallum, but the room that he'd shared with Ardyn for a week and some days. He seemed to have stumbled into the bathroom, mind a jumble. Disjointed memories of dark allies and hands on his skin-- He'd felt as though he might be sick—and when his lips parted a flow of blackest black was expelled into the sink before him. 

Noctis woke up with a start, Ardyn's sleeping form close by. He had fallen asleep next to him with limbs entangled, laughing about something—he could no longer remember what. The Chosen's bones ached, and he felt as though he hadn't slept at all. A strange, feverish memory of a dream that made him blush. It had been vivid, but he couldn't remember much; the mind was a strange thing—and a _good thing_ it had only been a dream. He dragged himself to the bathroom to wash up, and did not notice the plague-dust that came away when he washed his face, thinking perhaps to go check the morning news before his companion awoke. 

It was late morning, a week and some days later that Noctis came in bearing a newspaper, his expression grave. Reports had come in from Accordo and the ruins of Altissia. The sea had drawn back, levels dropping all the way out to the continental shelf—and a terrible whirlpool had churned endlessly for some unknown length of time. Noctis had a sinking feeling he knew when it had begun—and the only way to stop it. 

He simply passed the paper with its grim headline to Ardyn and settled in next to him, attention returned to the task laid out before them.   
The Accursed was lost in memories of that day in the bath:  
Fun? Fun was evenings spent alone in his parlor with a favored bottle of liquor and instrumental music playing in the background. It was a game of chess so carefully won either on the board or by manipulating people turned pawns. The clash of two Daemons trying to tear one another asunder. What Noctis was trying to propose was entirely different. He wished for them to simply be. That perhaps the Immortal Accursed could discard his centuries of burden and suffering for a few days. Oh if it were only that easy. 

That little smile almost made him wish to try. Noctis was so terribly young and had not the years to fester and rot on the inside as he had, but Ardyn also had daemons to help with that process. What the Chosen was attempting to glean from these moments perplexed Ardyn. Motives usually so clear were made hazy by a thickened fog. “Oh the demands the King of Kings makes of me.” His hand brushed against his lover’s cheek allowing him the peace of this moment while the fractured psyche of the monster was sated. 

Promise made was not broken. Ardyn did allow Noctis these days of listlessness as the pair of them settled into a near domestic situation in Lestallum. The Accursed did not worry about being recognized with his powers always at his disposal, but unlike his lover he did not venture into the streets as often. The lights he grew accustomed to once more until the Daemons writhing became a slight nuisance to shove into the corners of his mind to be all but forgotten. 

Strength returned to them slowly over the coming days as they allowed themselves to rest and bask in the benefits of what little civilization left had to offer. It was that understanding lingering between the pair that kept Ardyn from lashing out in rage as he did in the past towards Noctis. Secure he was in that the Chosen would stay upon path given. 

That did not mean he refrained from toying with the citizens of Lestallum that crossed him. Never substantial enough to draw attention to them none the less. 

When that morning came Ardyn was lounged upon their bed with a procured tablet in hand reading through a novel to alleviate his boredom. Attention drawn to his lover and device lay forgotten as he scanned the article in question.

“Our time is up, your majesty. She summons us to her side.” Leviathan was not content to bide her time while waiting for the murderers of divinity to come to her doorstep. The goddess was awake and raging more than ever. “It will not be long now before she calls you in earnest.” Two fingers tapped the side of Noctis’ head near his temple punctuating his point quite clearly on the intent of his words. Little good it would do either of them to have the Chosen brought to his knees before the fight had even begun. 

Hand and arm pulled away to settle about Noctis’ waist holding him close. “Ah but we would require aid to reach her. I do not fancy swimming the entire length to Altissa.” He could draw them there through the cracks of the world, but that required temporarily entering the realm that only the Astrals knew. They did not need that extra attention drawn to them; not to mention that drain on his recently returned strength.

He knew that they would have no choice but to move, and soon—that didn't mean he had to like the idea. Noctis frowned as Ardyn's hand rested against his waist and pulled him in close. He'd been haunted by enough dreams of what was to come to really be dreading it now, but he'd found this time spent in the darkness attuning himself to what was left of civilization to be something he could almost find peace in. For once in his life, he no longer felt the weight of destiny pulling him to an inevitable end. He was balking that yolk placed over his neck. He was no longer a slave to anything; save perhaps Ardyn's charms and the warmth of his lips against his skin. 

But—that too, was an illusion in a sense. It was time to focus on what they had set out to do. 

He sighed and rested his head against the taller man's shoulder, looking down at the newspaper that he'd already gone over several times. 

"My dad's boat is probably still moored at Galdin Quay. It's a few hours at max speed, I think." It was ironic to remember that they'd all spent a good deal of their time on that first voyage discussing Ardyn. It seemed like another life. 

It was if nothing else, a potential solution. 

This was just a dream after all, and not really anything but a hopeless young man holding to some small, strange little illusion of a life with this man out of time that he had come to hold some sort of affection for. Affection that was more dangerous than he might like to acknowledge. It had come to grip his heart, and he worried that he might lose the nerve to do what he must do in the end. 

For now, he held out hope that there would be a different end; anything but the one that the Astrals had foisted upon them. 

Noctis' expression waxed apologetic and he looked around at the room they'd been inhabiting for a moment before re-focusing. 

"It's a ways off but..." Back to Angelgard it seemed, though he had no intentions of disembarking there.   
Habitual it had become to rest his chin in turn on Noctis’ head when his lover pressed against his shoulder just so. Ardyn could feel that hesitation in the Chosen’s bones; a reluctance to face the Hydrean in particular. He was the Oracle now, in a loose sense of the word. The task now befallen to him to ensure Noctis would follow through on this next part of their dark plan. If the sea serpent wished to meet her end sooner rather than later? It would be quite rude of them to leaving her waiting. 

He fell into what he knew worked to ease Noctis as fingers at his waist idly caressed the top of his hip. It was not as if he did not find some pleasure of his own in the Chosen’s body. They knew each other intimately well and by touch alone. “It will be quite the drive though not undoable mind you. The dear old thing is still in condition to take us there.” If only in sore need of a cleaning, but that did not much matter as their time in this world was drawing nigh to its close. 

The newspaper was set aside so Noctis could no longer fixate upon the title and the words beneath. His head shifted as he brought his companion up to face only him. There in dusty blue he confirmed that hesitation and slight fear. An oddly attractive quality Ardyn found. A man lost in his own mind hoping for reassurances of his decisions. “Noct. Is your memory so short that you forget the cries of the Archaen as he fell into the abyss of a crater?” His thumb ran along Noctis’ bottom lip. “Shiva’s last blizzard or the storm of Ramuh forever quelled? The Hydrean is just another mere obstacle in our mutual desire.” 

Their lips were brought together in a brief moment, but Ardyn could not resist the small press of teeth as he withdrew. If the decision were left up to Noctis they would be here another week as he gained enough courage and fortitude behind his decision. 

“Prepare yourself however you see fit. We will leave within the hour.” They had not much to pack after all. Maybe stock up on some supplies they were lacking in. The sooner he could get Noctis to move the less time the Chosen could spend dreading the moment that awaited them at sea.

Noctis sighed into the kiss, now familiar as their little habits and routines had blurred into each other. There would be no other comfort for him. He had seen those he knew—glimpsed them when they came through with larger hunting parties. Watched Gladiolus with his girlfriend and Iris. They didn’t need to know about him. They had found lives and places to belong in his absence. Noctis was a creature out of time much like his now constant companion. 

Within the hour? 

Noctis went a bit tense at the insistence but he knew—Ardyn knew that he would stall even without meaning to. It was an affront to his own nature to admit the truth, but he was grateful that there was someone nearby with the confidence to call the shots like this. 

He brushed fingertips over Ardyn’s hand and got to his feet, looking away from the handful of items scattered over the table top and then to the room—and the strange little life they had built for themselves if only in a temporal sense. 

“ _It was a good dream_ ,” He muttered to himself, but said nothing more before he went about gathering his things. 

It wasn’t much, and it didn’t take him that long at all, but he was loathe to leave behind the creature comforts that they had access to. Well; god-slaying was not a walk in the park. He was embarrassed to think that he had somehow let himself get cozy with the idea of ‘making a life’ with Ardyn even if it was only for a while. 

He ached at the realization that Ardyn understood him more than anyone else he’d ever known could have; and he had loved fiercely and without reservation in his life so far. Noctis picked up a few of the little trinkets he’d come across and tucked them into his bag as well. He wondered if Ardyn wondered what they were, but made no offer to explain. He’d had time to himself, time to wander the streets in anonymity. 

Noctis finally grabbed the key and watched Ardyn with a placid expression before finally piping up. 

“Guess that’s it.” 

With the warmth of Noctis no longer pressing against him there was little reason for Ardyn to remain seated. Their small microcosm of domestic bliss had drawn to an end even as pleasant as it may have been. The Chosen had been decidedly happy in this small break in their path of madness and vengeance. Modern conveniences not entirely unwelcome respite. Mayhaps, he would entertain another small foray of a similar vacation after Leviathan had been brought to heel. 

Words muttered gave him a bit of a pause. The Accursed was well aware of how attached Noctis had become of his company. He was no fool, but how deeply did that attachment run? His thoughts could not linger upon it. 

A chance to say their good-byes to this world that harbored their suffering. Ifrit and Bahamut would pose the greatest of challenges. Ardyn loathed and loved to think of the Infernian’s demise internally for he knew they were being watched. Anything he said now could turn the deity’s gaze towards them; more importantly towards Noctis. 

Whatever the two of them were to each other now, it only mattered that there was trust enough existing between to finish morbid task ahead. The thoughts were always rattling around in Ardyn’s otherwise crowded mind against the near endless scratching of damned souls. 

All items packed including the tablet he may have stolen from an unsuspecting Hunter. His hand rose to brush along the stubble of a beard his lover was beginning to come into once more. Golden eyes flashed in glowing magenta for a second as the wave of magic flowed over them. “We shall not keep her waiting a moment longer.”

Movement made towards the car park knowing that the King of Kings would follow not far behind. “A shame the sun will not greet us for our venture forth to the shores. I would have cared to see you bare upon the sands.”

Noctis certainly hadn’t expected himself to be in such high spirits, even if his apprehension was still great. Regardless of the horrors ahead, he got to travel with Ardyn. It meant more time with him, more time trying to unravel; trying desperately to understand. 

“I didn’t take you for the ‘romantic beach getaway’ type, Ardyn.” He teased. 

He could no longer deny his fondness, though he also was never very good at finding labels and boxes with which to contain his feelings and so would rather simply exist with them. Speaking his mind was never easy, though next to Ardyn he tried to learn from him what he could—what was good to learn, at any rate. How to stand and present oneself like a king. How to speak with authority–

His bag over his shoulder, plenty of supplies gathered so that they would not have to scrimp or struggle too much made him feel a bit less aimless. He settled into the passenger seat of Ardyn’s car and leaned back a bit. 

The bench seat was a far cry from the more separate seating in the Regalia. If he’d wanted to, he could have leaned over and rested on the Acurssed’s lap if he so desired. Maybe when the road had made him weary. Thus far, he had managed to glean precious bits of information from him; surprised at how openly he spoke. Noctis felt that his own life; the things he’d experienced and witnessed—were of far less interest to Ardyn himself though. 

He frowned, mind wandering back to that night that Ardyn had gone off on his own so suddenly and come back wounded. It stuck there even though he had tried to rationalize it away a million times. 

“I uh. Don’t want to ask you anything that’d make you face unpleasant memories but. Something’s been bothering me.” He started slowly. 

“What is the Scourge, really? How is it that you’ve lived this long? Is it because of it, or because the Astrals cursed you? The Scourge is… turning people into Daemons so. How are you still…. _you_?” 

Noctis asked, frowning as he turned the thoughts over in his own head.   
Ardyn debated reaching for the controls of the audio system as the ride drew quiet, but fingers paused, pulling back as Noctis spoke. A shame-- he did so love his music even if others did not have the same appreciation as he. 

The majority of his life that held meaning was an unpleasant memory. His very existence an affront to that tumultuous time from divine rejection onwards. To speak of it always brought back and invoked darker and more torn emotions out of Ardyn’s psyche. Downfall of a naive healer and king whom the gods had used as a plaything. The only outward sign he gave was rolling tap of his fingers readjusting upon the steering wheel. 

He thought he had given detail enough as the crystal claimed it’s king, but Noctis was growing ever so curious about the shroud of mystery that was Ardyn Izunia’s past. Some could be freely told as it was just logic, but others were closer to his heart that he did not often expose. He was reminded of an ever inquisitive child seeking out answers to the questions of life.

“Oh Noct, did they neglect teach you anything?” His true thoughts and emotions hidden under a teasing smirk. “The Scourge is a parasite brought from the very heavens themselves on the back of a fallen star.” A hand removed from the wheel to make a dramatic motion towards the sky. Noctis was an intelligent man. He could fill in the blanks of where it landed. “It twists all that it comes to infect swallowing the very light of the dawn.” 

Years he had spent in isolation from the world studying that which he had cured people of. It was not as if he did not have an endless supply of it at his disposal, his very blood interwoven with it. “As for my own affliction we shall say it is a bit of both. You have seen me in the chill grips of death surely you have some notion in that pretty head of yours how it works.” 

The more he spoke on the matter, the more Ardyn’s voice edged into his more native accent; a longer drawl of words, rumbling and deep. It was vaguely Lucian, but much, much older. A tendency to meld vowels with one another.   
“How am I still me?” A slight click of his tongue given and pursing of his lips as if in deep thought. He knew the answer, but to share it? “Because I simply _am_.”  
These things were self evident to him for the most part, but he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Noctis had been hoping to glean more information about Ifrit and Ardyn's bond. He couldn't help but feel this strange haunting sensation when he thought about the Infernian; strange muddled memories that were likely only dreams and little more—He leaned back a bit more in his seat, enjoying the feeling of the damp air in his hair, honestly grateful to be leaving behind the stifling heat of Lestallum even though it was comfortable in other ways. 

There were settlements in Accordo as well, he'd heard—maybe they could find respite there, though he really had no love for being away from the Lucian mainland. 

Noctis was hoping for all of this to pass quickly. The nerves were getting to him, making him bounce his leg as the drive in pitch black continued, taking them back across the expanse of Duscae's once lush landscape. 

Silence stretched on as conversation died. Ardyn knew Noctis pondered over the questions he had been given without sufficient answer. The Chosen always had a slight pinched and faraway look whenever he was thinking too deeply. Only after a few miles did the Accursed give life to the audio system with volume on low. Old tracks played from MP3 player long laden with dust. 

He refrained from humming along with the tunes coming from crackling speakers made so by disuse. Instead his concentration lie upon the road and thoughts absently turned to strategizing over the Leviathan. Every battle the two shared mapped out meticulously in his mind that might give rise to a formulating plan. 

It was some time later when Noctis spoke up again, thinking about how Ardyn had just insisted that he was able to keep his form; his sense of self only out of pure will. 

It led Noctis to believe that there was more of the real him hidden inside, beneath that blackness than he might have wanted to. 

"I feel like... the Lucians remained willfully ignorant of the Scourge. Or maybe, it was just because they expected the Oracle to fix it generation after generation." Noctis shook his head and sighed. 

The music was forgotten when Noctis spoke once more. “Oh the vain Lucians have always prided themselves being close to the gods and their crystal. Niflheim thought of Cosmogony as mere fairytales.” Which was partially why they celebrated when the colossus Shiva was brought to her knees. The people of Gralea and the Emperor in particular had thought them not infallible as other cultures of Eos. 

There was that strange prickling in the back of Noctis' mind again as he went quiet—maybe Ardyn had gone too far to willingly allowing the scourge to work its way into him. There was no way of knowing what it might do to a being of light such as him, and he had a growing sensation that something was terribly wrong. 

The prickling became scratching, and he jolted suddenly—sure that he had felt something wet hit his face. 

"Rain?" 

Noctis looked up but there was nothing—and another drop fell upon his lip. His hand came up on instinct to smear away the liquid—came away grey-black, smeared with tar. 

For several moments he had thought that it was just a normal nosebleed like the stress ones he used to get from time to time when he was a teenager, but this was not blood, and this was not a simple, painless thing. Something was stirring inside of him—and he could hear voices, whispers that were entirely unlike those of the Gods that had haunted him in their slumber. 

He tried not to show any recognition of his panic, bringing up the sleeve of his charcoal black shirt to wipe it away. 

It wasn't as though he'd die—but could he be warped into something worse? Something like Ardyn? He jolted once more—could've sworn he'd felt a hand brush over his hair in a manner meant to be comforting. It was so real that he turned to look into the back seat sharply to be certain that it was empty. 

When Noctis began to fret it did not go unnoticed. Ardyn’s eyes were ever keen, watching for changes in his companion ever since the pleasure they shared before the mirror and the Scourge he had used upon a whim. 

The car pulled off to the side of the road and shut off when Noctis jerked looking for a specter that wasn’t there. Hallucinations were not part of this stage. It only came into play much later days before the afflicted was consumed by Daemonic presence. 

“Noct.” His voice stern as fingers forced his lover’s gaze to him by guiding his chin. Black blood. Barely noticeable but a bit remained on Noctis’ face. Was the Crystal’s light so vulnerable that its chosen bearer fell victim so quickly with only a small amount of the plague? It was a piece that did not fit into the puzzle. Ardyn knew this because it had taken far longer for himself to fall, and with much more of the taint coursing through his veins. “It is only the two of us.” 

Noctis frowned as Ardyn pulled them over, a bit dazed and nauseated but mostly alright, he thought. He frowned and glanced around as though he couldn’t possibly know why they were stopping altogether; he was fine, probably. Well—not fine. He’d seen people with the later stages of the Scourge. Though he had no external mottling of the skin, this much coming from inside was a well known sign that the end was nigh; it was either dust or daemon-city—and it could be at any time. 

He swallowed thickly, the now familiar taste of the stuff on his tongue distant but real. There was a hint of confusion as Ardyn spoke; such reassuring, softness—just the two of them indeed—

This should have been done before they left. How foolish of himself. Even if the course of the affliction presented made little logical sense unless Noctis was tainted elsewhere or by _something_ else; a fight with a Daemon? Questions to be posed later. Ardyn would take no more chances where Noctis was concerned. 

“Hold still a moment. I can not entirely guarantee how pleasant this will feel.” He gave a small smirk brimming with his confidence. “However-- you do not cower from my harsher attentions.” A tease. 

“Sorry, must’ve been… uh…” There was no nice way to comment that someone must’ve infected you with the infectious disease they played host to. “– caught it after all.” 

He then nodded as Ardyn explained that the process might not be pleasant. He’d been healed of the Scourge once before by Luna’s mother before she died. The process was not instant, but if he slept it off he’d be fine by the time they hit their destination. 

He gave a small smile in the dim light and shifted closer in the bench seat—realizing that he’d now get to see that small hint of light come to the surface again. 

Light started emanating soft and bright in his palms. Gently they were brought to brush down Noctis’ arms in a ritualistic manner before finally lifted to rest on either side of his cheeks. Ardyn’s head bowed with eyes closed; foreheads touching as though in prayer. He allowed the light to seep from his hands and into Noctis; beckoning the Scourge inside to return to its master. 

“Divum astri animae et lucis nobis tenebrae calamitate liberate.” Words of old spoken many times by the healer of the people. By the man he once was that struggled to save the world from the very fate it was locked in now. 

The magic _pulled_ , trying to draw the plague that so clearly infecting his partner from his body. Daemons writhed beneath the surface as Ardyn placed all effort into this one task. The light did not bring the ichor over into him. Instead his hands trembled slightly and sweat formed at the effort before something else, someone else’s magic pushed him away.   
As the Accursed spoke an ancient prayer that Noctis didn’t quite recognize, he refused to take his eyes off of him even when faced with mild discomfort. At first, it was just a buzzing—and then it became a feverish screeching inside of him, feeling as though something was flailing; beating against his very insides. That caused him to jerk forward a bit, brow furrowing as Ardyn was obviously struggling visibly. Foreheads bumped together just slightly as Noctis gritted his teeth and then an awful noise; voice distorted and not his own fell from him as he grunted under the strain, black bubbling up in his throat to make it hard to breathe. 

“Ahh..” A pained, shocked gasp that came from his lips brought on by frustration. Hands shook as the light retreated, trying to bring feeling back to where there was numbness. A notion far more pressing lingered that was not the discomfort radiating through the fallen king’s arms. It was a vice over a blackened heart that threatened to choke what little life had left in it.   
Ardyn gasped, that little noise punctuating the air and he pulled back. Inside of Noctis it was like someone had snapped a rubber band, and he was left panting and trying to see straight. 

“What—w-what just happened?” He asked lowly, feverish and feeling as though he might really lose his lunch if he wasn’t careful. 

“Are you alright?” In the same breath, Noctis’ hand came out and gently clasped Ardyn’s. He had no way of knowing what had happened in the time that Ifrit had blocked out of his memory with his dark magic. He couldn’t have known that his body was raging within itself, the dark god’s Scourge trying to take hold in him the same way that it had in Ardyn millennia ago—only now, the parasite had evolved and changed; no longer the same one that was housed in the shell of a man once called a healer. 

The noise echoed hauntingly in Ardyn’s mind. He knew it. It was the voice of the daemons strangling out the humanity within a person. Noctis was more infected than what little he had given him. The Crystal’s light was not that weak. He would know as what portion he had been blessed with so long ago still held a balance within a body overly crammed with darkness incarnate. Whatever had poisoned the Chosen… it was not just him. 

 

_**He couldn’t heal Noctis.** _

 

Heart thudded slowly, agonizingly in his chest mind now fixated upon one cruel, dark truth. He couldn’t heal him, and it was not a problem with his own powers. Something _within Noctis_ prevented it, conflicted with and fought with the power held by the Oracle. The numbness and pulsating pain mattered not. He barely felt his lover’s hand upon his own, soft with a slight roughness of callouses brought about by the wielding of weapons. The Accursed’s thoughts sunk a bit deeper into despair and his own suffering. If the Chosen… if _Noctis_ became like him… they could not finish what they set out to do. The Crystal’s light would be turned to new purpose unable to shine in its full radiance to eradicate the gods alongside the darkness Ardyn harbored. 

Their time was now borrowed. Lestallum and all its pleasantries was a idyllic dream they could not afford to revisit now. Ardyn’s hands subconsciously gripped and cradled Noctis’ hand squeezing in a motion both tender and apologetic.   
“My state of being isn’t the concern here, Noct.” The numbness was fading and the angry damned souls receded to normal pitch. His eyes that had been cast aside in thought finally returned to regard dusky Carolina blue. 

“We are at an impasse, my dear.” It hurt to admit that for once he was not sufficient. The taste of failure lingered on Ardyn’s tongue even after all his careful planning. All of it about to be snatched away by the cruelty of the fates. “Whatever Scourge ails you—” Fingers caressed up the delicate skin of his inner wrist. “—I am unable to purge you of.” An ugly, wretched truth that clawed at him. 

_Failure._

One of the few concepts that the Accursed disfavored and could bring about something akin to despair. “Our time to complete our task grows short, your majesty.” The colubrine quality in voice dropped showing the graveness of the situation and the honesty he wished to convey. 

“I can slow the progress, but it is all I can offer. When it truly takes hold… when the Crystal’s light ceases its struggle… you will be unable to eradicate the gods.” 

Noctis would become a creature like him. A constant state of equilibrium where the darkness cradled the light that remained buried unable to shine as it once had. The plague would drive deep in Noctis’ mind and may even twist him away from the man that Ardyn had grown to—

He understood almost immediately, the grave tone that Ardyn had taken on. The damp breeze shifted around them, and the Daemonic landscape that he had begun to find some kind of home in suddenly seemed darker than ever. They would be in Leide again soon, and that was enough. 

Their time in Lestallum had perhaps been spent foolishly, but he didn't care. That earnestness in his chest had only grown deeper and warmer. He had been prepared to die all along; this was just a different sort of aim to the end. 

"Okay. O-Okay." He nodded slowly. This wasn't Ardyn's fault as he had thought originally and it wasn't a quick fix. That was fine. A deep breath passed his lips as he watched the warm hands gripping his own. 

"It's okay," He forced slowly. Even if it wasn't, they had to operate as though they were.

"Leviathan first. Everything else we'll worry about. After." 

That was the best that could be done. Noctis almost felt guilty—the feverishness made it a bit hard for him to focus, but it wasn't impossible. He'd fought Titan more than once with a blistering headache. This was a walk in the park. 

More importantly was the fact that he had no idea how he had contracted a different strain of the pathogen. There were fuzzy memories in Lestallum that brought him pause, but he didn't know how to bring that up and more importantly—should he? Noctis licked his lips, still tasting the scourge that had permeated his senses not long before. 

He could more importantly sense a deep sadness in Ardyn that he had never noted before, and it broke his heart. Noctis pressed forward and offered a small kiss to the Accursed's cheek. If he became like Ardyn then... No, he wouldn't think about that for too long. Noctis would do what he did best and shut down to focus on putting one foot in front of the other; a trait that Gladiolus had famously despised. 

Noctis nodded and looked ahead instead, eyes peering into the darkness as though trying to see the coast they were headed for. 

"Let's hurry, then." He said as though it were just as simple matter of punctuality. 

He shivered slightly as he sank back into the seat, cheeks feverish and flushed by the internal battle between dark pathogen and holiest of light. The whispers did not return just yet, but he would also keep those to himself. 

Noctis would not give in. He refused to be consumed before they could end this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good deal of this hinges on my theory that Ifrit is in part, the source of the Scourge, at least as it is known in Eos in the current day. I won't expand on it TOO much because it'll spoil later chapters buuuut~


	12. Sea Passage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginning a race against time, Ardyn and Noctis set sail for Altissia to face Leviathan's call.

The kiss was meant as an offer of comfort. Was his sudden dour mood so obvious even under the face of indifference and even carelessness he oft wore? It all meant little in the light of the reality they now faced. It was a race against time drawing them ever faster into the spiral that would bring the end of their lives. If the Scourge in Noctis would so kindly wait long enough to grant them such a thing. 

Despondency and rage were kept at bay if only because they did need to press forward with what time was still afforded to them. Two millennia of planning almost in ruins before the Accursed’s very eyes. His absolution on the brink of being snatched away from him. His mind had to turn from it. “Wait but a moment and we will resume.” 

His fingers caressed over Noctis’ face, wiping the black smear from it before Ardyn exited the car to rummage through the trunk. 

A bottle of the sickeningly sweet soda that King of Kings favored was not ideal, but it would do. Just the same as his companion he was able to imbue it with magic to make it more than what it was. The spell altered not to produce a potion, but a type of remedy unique to Ardyn alone who had suffered through years of healing the Scourge before everything had been turned against him.   
Noctis had meant it when he'd suggested they hurry. He hated the idea of not making it to the end; of breaking the promise he'd made to both of them. He nearly complained until the soft urging came to him to wait—that they would be off as soon as Ardyn had seen to this and that; whatever that was. 

Noctis sank into his seat a bit more, thinking about what the implications of this really was—His mind was fogged, but he knew something had happened—something that they were missing. He was sure he hadn't come into contact with any powerful Daemons that they weren't both aware of. Noctis' eyes opened slowly when Ardyn returned with a bottle, light infused and dancing in the carbonation within. 

Healer of the people; Noctis could see that so clearly in him now, and he tried to hide the emotion if only because he worried that the other man would simply not appreciate the kind of empathy and adoration that rose up in his expression. 

“Drink.” Came the command with the bottle handed over to his companion. “Small sips. It will settle your stomach and aid in slowing the progress. Then you will rest.” A tone he had taken far too often with his patients. 

The top of the bottle even twisted off so Noctis would not have to. “Even if it pains you, do not cease in your struggling. Do not allow yourself to succumb.” A warning from a man that knew the plague better than most say for Ifrit himself. 

"Got it," He gave a small nod and watched him with a distant sort of expression if only to hide the well of emotion he felt. 

Keen eyes watched his companion heed his orders as his mind began to formulate what could have caused this. The very pathogen in the air was from him-- from the factories in Niflheim. “Tell me, Noct. Where did you wander when not in my presence?” His tongue clicked inside his mouth in slight agitation.

If he could solve the puzzle of _how_ it had occurred then maybe he held a slim chance at knowing how to save his lover.

Where had he wandered, indeed? 

Now Noctis felt as though it was all he could do to tell Ardyn (with a bit of embarrassment) that he didn't quite remember where he had been the night before. 

"In and out of the marketplace, usually. But... Last night is fuzzy." He said after a moment. "I guess I was just really tired by the time we passed out last night?" 

Hard to tell if that distant expression upon Noctis’ face was his coping mechanism that Ardyn had come to recognize or the Scourge working deeper into his psyche. Whichever it was the Accursed was not unaware of the despair Noctis felt at the idea he could not keep his promise because of this rather large setback that faced them now. 

The Chosen should not have been left out of his sights even for a moment, but those were regrets of the past. Ardyn was unsure if he could manipulate time to even that extent. He was not a messenger of the gods after all. 

A beat as the unpleasant truth dawned on him, and Noctis looked up slowly. "When... did we pass out last night?" 

_Ardyn must have been asleep already—or...? Maybe? No--_

"I **don't** remember." It was a firm assertion, and he had to stick by it even if it made him instantly frustrated with himself. 

Noctis' eyes fell, unable to give much more detail unless Ardyn proved to be interested in specters of strange whispers.   
Noctis’ mind-fog mostly came from the almost surreal manner in which Ardyn was tending to him. He did as he was told, obedient though he was normally one to fight any sort of care-taking (poor Ignis,) and sipped at his remedy with eyes trained on the Accursed’s form. Focusing on him was easy; it left him with that soft warmth in his chest that he had grown used to. And—really he didn’t feel all that sick just yet.   
What his lover revealed made Ardyn furrow his brows in a little bit of confusion. Noctis had been a bit out of it the prior evening, but the king had said himself that he was merely exhausted. “Noct. We did not fall asleep together last night. You came back from the market and promptly fell unconscious upon our bed.” In his clothes even-- which was a strange, peculiar thing given they had both slept nude since that fated night at the Citadel in each other’s presence. 

It was disconcerting. Another piece added to the puzzle that Ardyn needed to figure out. Noctis did not strike him as the man that would seek out drugs or other hallucinogens. An outside force had acted upon him surely. If the Accursed could arrive at that answer there may yet be something he could do. 

“Youth _should_ save you from such lapses in memory. Far too young you are, my dear.” His fingers carded through Noctis’ hair pushing it from where it clung to his face from the fever.

For now he did not press for more when his lover clearly needed to recover. Further nudging for information would provide no fruitful responses or insight.  
It was more than a little troubling that his memory of that night didn’t line up. He’d thought that they’d more than just fell asleep together—his mind was muddled, and he remembered pale, white skin—not the bronzed tone that he had come to so revere and adore. 

That alone gave him enough pause to worry about saying more. He feared jealousy; feared that he had done something regrettable and—though they had no real spoken arrangement in place, Noctis felt simply that he had eyes for no one else, at least now; there was no room for it. Anything could upset the careful balance they’d created in order to complete their mission. 

He’d think on it a bit longer before offering more information. It was clear that Ardyn was eager to move on, and rightly so. The faster they made it to he coast the better. 

Ardyn kissed Noctis in a reassuring manner once more-- not prompting for anything further from his lover’s lips. “Finish your remedy and rest. I will wake you upon our arrival.” The automobile restarted, and the former Chancellor resumed his place behind the wheel. 

Noctis lost track of time as he nursed the drink in his hands and eventually began to nod off, lulled by the soft sound of music and the familiar sensation of wind ruffling his hair. 

The dream he sank into was dark, and he felt that he was being watched. From the murky darkness, a figure rose up; covered in the same glossy blackness that seemed to be everywhere; stretching out in every direction and staining his feet black with its tar like consistency. 

Eyes opened, burning like coals in a human skull but—was it human at all? And he jerked away, but the hand found his arm and yanked him back down, hot enough to sear his flesh. 

Noctis jolted awake, sweat on his brow as he sat upright, careful not to spill the drink that had propped itself up against his thigh as he’d dozed. Pounding heart and shallow breath slowly evened out as he tried to focus on the road, which he recognized. They were close. He must have been asleep for much longer than he’d thought, evidenced by his stiff neck. 

The landscape had become closed in, punctuated by high cliffs that the old road cut through. Daemons had grown into the very landscape, and surely the Quay would be no less dangerous than the last time he had passed through it. Noctis mentally readied himself to fight their way through.   
With Noctis resting it afforded Ardyn time enough to think on this most grave of developments. Maybe once he would not have minded that Noctis suffered alongside him, but he had delivered on his promise so far.

His demise in this manner ensured this continued wretched existence with no blessed ending. There were no more Crystals for another Chosen to claim. The Astrals were a weakened force without enough power between them to summon another prophecy out of the aether. 

Blame placed upon himself at first, but if this had truly been of his own Scourge the healing process would not have failed. No, this ichor that plagued his companion was not his own. How had Noctis come across such a mutated pathogen? The parasite in the very air came from the Immortal Accursed and the factories in Gralea. 

The factories had derived their cocktail of M.T. producing chemicals from his blackened, putrid blood. A fact the researchers were made most ignorant of. A decade not enough time for it to evolve past the original samples given. 

The plague was rather slow to adapt to change since aside from the Crystal’s light it had no natural predators; no cure. Thoughts shifted as his mind started to suspect a far simpler solution: _Ifrit_. Did he not harbor his own ichor inside of him? Idea alone enough to make Ardyn sneer, knuckles grip more tightly upon the wheel, and his foot edging the car ever faster. 

Noctis stirring and fretting drew Ardyn’s attention from his mind and to the present. “Good morning, your majesty.” It could not exactly be called morning with how dark it was. All the same he reached over sensing the Chosen’s distress and squeezed his knee. Little good it would do them for him to lose himself now. “Do hold on. It would be most unfortunate if you were thrown from the car.”

It took several long moments for Noctis to regain himself, but the urgency in Ardyn’s voice brought him to the forefront well enough. His eyes narrowed slightly, fighting to stop his vision from spinning—and he recognized the area he had doggedly walked and ran through when he’d first awakened. Even in the dim, barely noticeable light that filtered through the Scourge choking the atmosphere, the looming stone of Angelgard’s strange wings appeared as a gargantuan silhouette. 

With that Ardyn smirked, knowing the Daemons that lurked in the very walls of the tunnel right in front of them. The engine revved and sped through the cliff walls marred with Daemon Walls that were powerful enough to not cower at the presence of the larger monster. It was a deadly speed and reckless driving at its finest as the Accursed weaved through reaching clawed hands to the other side.

Noctis was all white knuckles and gritted teeth as they swerved down the bends, avoiding the lumbering Iron Giants and Nagas slithering in the darkness until they were able to skid to a stop in what was once the car park of Galdin Quay. 

Such reckless driving was probably why Ardyn never bothered obtaining a license in the first place. Even when law enforcement of traffic violations were still a thing he was far too old to be concerned with such trivial matters. They had managed to dodge the weave through the worst of the daemons. With such precious time remaining to them, he found it important that they not spend it on the small horrors of the night. 

Noctis noted it was mostly quiet now, but last time he’d passed through he’d gotten swarmed quickly. 

“There are Tonberrys and Nagas all over the damn place. Or at least were. I dealt with them—but there’s always more.” He grumbled. 

“Was hoping I wouldn’t have to look back at this place or that _damned island_ again for a while.” The tone was bitter as he cast a baleful glance in its direction. 

Noctis was still feverish, but he was determined. Leviathan had to be stopped. 

He got to his feet and swung around to the back, fervently taking all he could carry of their supplies. Ardyn would be able to carry what was left—luckily bags made it all manageable, though heavy straps made balance a struggle. He didn’t want to be caught without necessities again. 

The King squinted through the darkness once more, making sure that the boat was in fact still moored there. A sigh of relief and he squared his jaw. 

“Alright. Let’s go.” 

The former Chancellor tugged upon his bell shaped sleeves with practiced, careful ease following Noctis to the back of the car. “They merely sense a monster larger than themselves nearby and fear being devoured whole. Rest assured they are still lurking awaiting a chance to strike.” Altogether too cheerful of their situation. In his head the scratch scratching of the horde at the proximity of their brethren. “Not that I blame them as you are so _very_ tempting.” 

Whatever luggage was leftover the Accursed took up following his companion to the docks were the boat was moored. “The island?” He was not going to pass up an opportunity to see what made Noctis so bitter and upset. 

His palm outstretched upwards and motioned towards the only obvious island within sight. “Angelgard?” Amber eyes narrowed ever so slightly and regarded jagged formation. The look in them suggested some past connection to it; for why else would the immortal stare at it with near hatred? 

With a soft grunt, Noctis hefted his bag further over his shoulder and trudged through the plague-dust. It was uncommonly thick here, as he remembered it—with signs of people and staff who were no more. He'd probably known them—tried not to think about it. He frowned, grimacing as Ardyn asked him about his comment. 

_Angelgard_? Yes. He frowned and followed the direction in which Ardyn gestured before answering. 

"Yeah. I... when I came to, I was laid out in there. In that weird stone room." He hadn't known what it was, hadn't even considered what it was for. Honestly—he had felt rather inclined to hurry the hell out of there, as though something awful were breathing down his back; as though if he didn't leave when he had, he might never have been able to. 

A short, derisive laugh came without reserve from Ardyn’s lips with a half maniac smile upturning the corners. The Six truly had a sick sense of humor if that damnable prison was where they chose to place the Chosen back into this realm of existence. 

“Of course they would choose to send you there. Quite a lovely, roomy place is it not?” He knew it all too well. To that day he did not know how long he had been trapped in that prison before Ifrit came granting him escape. 

In their escape the fallen king had learned what the Infernian had truly done to him. Infected him with more of the plague knowing that the Crystal would reject him if his soul became too polluted. The gods had known the price he could pay yet allowed him still to fumble in the dark for so long. Half riddled guidance had done the Oracle of old little good. 

Much to their great fortune the smaller daemons were content to remain out of sight with Ardyn so close by. The boat was more than large enough for the two of them. Accordo was still several hours past the horizon. Luggage set aside and secured. 

“Does his majesty wish for my continued aid in driving?” Ardyn teased running fingers down Noctis’ cheek. A gesture he disguised as a way to check on the fever and his lover’s condition. It was no worse. A sign that the remedy was working it’s magic for now. A small relief.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, when he'd steered his father's boat on shaking legs back to the mainland. Noctis ducked away and hopped up onto the deck. He wanted to leave the whole thing behind. It felt like being discarded. He was only useful as far as what the Astrals wanted for him, he knew that, and it only reignited his rage. 

"You can drive if you want." Actually, in the dark and with his head throbbing—maybe it was better that way. He sighed and frowned, not wanting to admit that he was feeling woozy. 

Noctis settled into the salt-dusted upholstery of the seat adjacent to the captain's chair and took a few deep breaths of the sea breeze. Make it to Leviathan—Make it to the end of this and start re-focusing plans from there. Probably. 

He closed his eyes for a moment before he remembered that he was meant to be sipping at the remedy that Ardyn had given him. He returned it to his lips and continued to nurse it even though it was going a bi flat. Noctis refused to waste even a drop of Ardyn's precious healing light. 

"Sorry I'm not at my best. I'll be ready though—when we get to Altissia." It was almost ironic, how that seemed to always be the case. Just get to Altissia—just make it that far-- 

Noctis may not have worsened, but his condition was still cause for concern. A man half incapacitated drawn into battle against a deity. Gloved hands sifted through bags for another soda to imbue with more of his magic. This one he handed to his lover upon taking his seat. When was the last time he had need to drive a boat? This would be an interesting ride none the less. 

“So little faith in me to carry us both through this, Noct? You have hurt my feelings.” The pout he gave was mocking as he turned the key bringing the engine to life. “Rest assured I will have another brilliant scheme of mine in mind before we reach our destination.” One was already mostly formed on the way to the bay even with thoughts of how Noctis became this far afflicted without something he couldn’t handle. 

“Rest as you will, and keep drinking.” The boat lurched moving forward away from Galdin Quay toward their goal that lie in the altar in Altissa. Ardyn may have some skill in driving automobiles, but he was sorely lacking in how he handled the ship. At least though he wasn’t purposefully trying to drown them before reaching Leviathan.

Noctis grumbled as he rested his head and accepted the drink offered to him. He didn’t necessarily like this—Definitely didn’t appreciate the idea that he might have to rely on Ardyn throughout this next battle. Not for lack of trust but because he felt as though he should be doing more; better. His head was swimming, those awful dark thoughts threatening to return and push him over the edge. 

His eyes were heavy as he glanced out into the murk, and he gave his companion an apologetic look. About all he could manage in the moment. Noctis was aware of that whisper in his ear again, but thought perhaps it was just the sea breeze; the churning of the waves. He didn’t want to think of it as something else, and thought that maybe he could save his sanity just a bit longer through abject denial. For some reason, he realized with a spike of shame, it was easier to accept that he was hearing the voices of the gods as a young man than it was to now accept that he might be hearing those of Daemons dwelling in the Scourge. 

He turned so that his heavy eyes could rest on Ardyn as they moved out into the open sea and purposely avoided looking at the looming island to their left. 

“Just keep your heading and you’ll be fine. It’s… not as far as I always thought it was,”

It was meant to be encouraging, but his tired brain wondered if Ardyn would find another thing to latch onto; another imagined slight to turn that sharp tongue of his against him. 

He was getting to the point of thinking that he might be getting used to that; able to accept it more readily. Noctis was for once, learning to pick and choose his battles in a way that was almost considerably strategic at least—where Ardyn was concerned. Mostly, that involved ignoring his malcontent until it passed and something managed to catch his eye and shift his mood. 

“Of course, your majesty. Least I forget a world I’ve lived in for over two millennia.” Ardyn's foul mood was not Noctis’ fault. The blame lay with the fire deity alone, but it leaked over into his tone now. The boat lurched again as he recalled how to maneuver it. If only the drop ships were available to them it would have made this so much easier-- 

Another few sips of the drink handed him, and Noctis once more thought of the precious nature of the healing light it had been infused with. At this rate, he might even join Ardyn in wishing for the peace of death with how tired to the bone he felt. 

It was awful to think that he’d been so full of hope the last time he’d sailed this course. Now, he hoped only for absolution and a reliable way to destroy the massive body of the sea’s Serpent Mother. 

Ardyn would likely tease Noctis for his lack of contributing in the next fight, but the immortal would not bear it against him truly. He was all too aware of the war that raged inside of the Chosen. The fever, the pain, the hallucinations, and voices clamoring inside of your head both real and not. It grated on Ardyn’s nerves to know something like this had transpired in his absence-- to Noctis. 

The only lead that made plausible sense was that damnable god’s meddling. A notion to confront only after the death of the Tidemother. It boiled his blood to think the Infernian thought he was _worthy_. He was naught more than a spoiled child of a god forever whining and pining after the Accursed; a heart he would never own. 

Ardyn would never love him, especially now. That urge to destroy him and rip him limb from limb was almost all consuming. If he did not have Noctis to attend then he would have fallen into that hatred. His vengeance and spite knew no bounds: not even time. 

As their destination drew closer the sea's rage intensified. Leviathan was certainly awake and waiting. Whatever settlements were left on the continent of Accordo now surely felt her presence. The darkness of the world had isolated them further from the other beacons of life, and now the sea serpent's rage did so further. 

“You know her weaknesses. We aims for her fins. As she thrashes in pain we strike. I will attempt to hold her ire, but whatever you do Noct do-- not allow her to pull you into the sea with her.” There she had the advantage. There she could easily kill either of them. Ardyn clicked his tongue in thought. “Will you require we rest once we dock before confronting her? She was never the most patient of the Six.”

That time, Noctis was nearly ready to rise to the bait, his muddled mind making his temper short when the conversation turned towards discussing strategy instead. Ruffled feathers were forgotten for the moment as he focused on the reality of the battle at hand rather than the fear. The fins could bring her down, he knew this—but she was not necessarily aiming to kill him last time, either. Was she? He didn’t know. There had been an awful lot of threatening and talk of eating all of humanity and. None of that seemed terribly benevolent to him. 

Noctis frowned as he thought on it, the slow realization dawning as he realized that yes really—they were just incredibly powerful beings with shallow minds and the demands of eons under their belts. They could move to their own petty whims as they liked, he supposed. 

That was why the world was better off without them—men should not be bound to beings who could change their minds on a whim in such a way. For them, life was but a blink of an eye. For the Astrals, they had all of eternity to consider their mistakes and make adjustments. It merely solidified the fact in his mind that they must act. They _must_ do this. 

He nodded and sipped his drink as the sea breeze whipped through his hair, then turned to gaze at Ardyn from heavily lidded eyes again. On their left, Angelgard was just beginning to sink out of view in exchange for the inlets that lead to Altissia’s grand canal. 

“Angelgard—you mentioned it. You’ve been there? It seems… I dunno. Weird to me that its such a prominent feature of the coastline and yet. I feel like no one ever talked about it. When we first got to Galdin, I asked about it and everyone said that no one came to Galdin Quay for the island. The subject was just. Dropped after that. I don’t remember anything about it in school—history books? Why not? It’s more than a little weird, especially now that I’ve seen what’s there.” 

He sank further into the seat, chin resting against his chest as though he might nod off at any moment. The messy steering wasn’t really an issue—but it was certainly keeping him on his toes. He supposed Ardyn couldn’t have mastered everything even in two millennia, at any rate.

Another barbed point of his past brought to the forefront of the Accursed’s mind. Out of all the memories few stood out as clearly in his mind as this. That wretched island. The Six and the Crystal had abandoned him. Its light would not allow him to ascend. His brother had tried to execute him to correct the folly of the gods, and in that death Bahamut addressed him. 

_“O’ fallen king of the Crystal. Your soul harbors the scourge of the star. A plague upon the realm of the divine can not be allowed. You are accursed. Polluted. Damned. I nor any of my brethren will give you what you seek. You are unworthy. Your soul will not rest until another more befitting of the Crystal’s light descends to muster in the Dawn. Until such time you will be placed to rest to reflect upon your sins.”_

_When Ardyn awakened from that first temporary respite of death his heart pounded and hammered like a fluttering bird caged within his breast. Surrounded by the rot of corpses for a disgraced king would not be allowed a proper burial. He was frightened and sickened-- scrambling back away from a rotted skull filled with maggots. He felt sick; almost expelled the contents of his stomach if there had been any._

_The Glacian had come to him in that dark moment. Her chill and coldness just as welcoming to him as a hearth’s fire. When she knelt his arms came about her shoulders pleading to her silently to deliver him from this nightmare._

_Where she took him was just another hell. Five of the Six assembled-- striping away the covenants between them. It broke something in the once healer: left him in pain, trembling. Ramuh had muttered words he could not hear over the near deafening roar of the Daemons writhing within him. Shiva. Shiva was the one that threw him into that cell and the magic came down along with swords of the Draconian buried deep into the earth. She lingered while the others faded. Her smile she once gave him no longer there. Her eyes as cold as the ice she commanded._

_“Have I not toiled enough in your names so that my people may be free of strife and illness? Had I not done as you have asked? So **why**? Answer me, Shiva! Shiva!” His voice screamed close to cracking as tears both black and clear dripped from his face, but the goddess was gone. She had left him to rot in the small cell fortified by Bahamut’s blessed blades and the seals of the Six, say for one. Only with the promise that in time another Chosen would come and relieve the fallen king of his suffering._

Faraway look in amber rescinded as the memory of his own cries echoed in the Accursed’s mind. Long stretches of time lost as the madness had seeped in allowed within the cracks of his fractured psyche and gripped him so tightly as to be made whole again. When he awakened from that hell, he was no longer the same benevolent man. Suffering and isolation in that cell made him cruel; fashioned him into the creature he was now. If the plague had not driven him to insanity, the gods had finished the job. That same Scourge was the only thing that had given him absolution in that moment.

It was part of him now.

“Is history not told from the point of view of the victors, your majesty? They would seek to erase all the inconvenient details.” His tone was dark and dangerous. He edged closer to that abyss that was his spiteful nature. “As your clever mind has no doubt surmised it is a prison, and one I am more than familiar with it.”

“You… were trapped there.” It wasn’t a question so much as it was an observation, and it made Noctis’ skin crawl. Maybe he was just overemotional with the sickness that was making him weak, but he felt tears sting at the corners of his eyes. It had been years and years since he had wept for his own circumstances, and yet here they were. It wasn’t just for him though—for the ache in his chest seemed to hinge deeply on the fact that again it had been brought to his attention just how _deeply_ Ardyn had been wronged. 

With some difficulty, struggling for his sea legs—Noctis got to his feet and wobbled over to the captain’s chair where Ardyn sat and leaned against it to keep his footing. His free hand gripped the Immortal’s shoulder, and the other cradled the enchanted soda turned anti-plague ampoule he’d been offered. 

Solemn nod was the only indication he gave. Ardyn did not wish to discuss the matter further nor in detail. Mortals were never meant to endure the deafening silence that came with solitary confinement. His own mind became a poisonous echo chamber of vile thoughts and accusation. Truthfully the Accursed recalled little more than the days upon endless days of a fracturing mind and the cries he made to the gods for mercy. 

Head tilted so his gaze could regard the warmth of the hand and comfort being offered to him. Ugly, jagged parts of him wanted to shove it away, but what action he gave in return was something else entirely. Elegant fingers casually brushed against Noctis’ gesture of support. The touch did not linger and all too quickly it retreated to steering the ship.

Yet, that fluttering feeling he had been trying valiantly to chase away stirred within his chest. Fleeting as it was before the Immortal chose once more to ignore its existence. He reminded himself again it was nothing more than a possessive attachment of a favored toy. Never the less his eyes followed Noctis as he took up his seat, and he could not deny he held an urge to reach over and continue to offer lingering caresses. 

The sea’s rough waves made the trip more than a bit frustrating—at least there were no insurmountable walls of water to be seen just yet. The knowledge that within the hour he could be drowning or being torn limb from limb by teeth the length of his torso was… not comforting to Noctis. But Ardyn? Ardyn was. 

“I won’t pry any more.” Simply, he had wanted the warmth and support of comfort—and to offer it. If there was anything he’d learned about all of this it was how hard it was to be open; how hard it was to let out everything that clawed at one’s insides. 

Ardyn was surely not much better at it than he was, if not worse. He was trapped in his bitterness; trapped in his spite. While Noctis could understand that; even relate—there was a part of him that was determined to prove that there were still things worth living for. 

_‘You simply have been without the pleasures and enjoyment of his body.’_ The lie Ardyn told himself that he swallowed like poisoned water. Never mind that it had only been a couple days prior since they had last found that pleasure in one another. 

Noctis had settled back into his seat, white knuckled as ocean spray washed over the deck of the boat and he was beginning to worry that they might be in very real danger of capsizing. He looked to Ardyn, his heart steeled for what was to come. 

Suddenly, he hauled himself to his feet as the partially broken arches that signified the entrance to the once grand city and shouted over the din. 

“ _ **Leviathan!**_ Do you want an audience or not? Let us through or I’ll never tell you what happened to your siblings! Face us with honor,” He demanded.

Seas became choppier to where he had to slow the boat as they neared the entrance to the once proud city of Altissa. The goddess was nowhere in sight, but her mark was clear in the swirling maelstrom. No indication she had heard her Chosen King until the seas calmed in their rage. Leviathan beckoned them quietly, but she would not be content to abide in silence for long. 

Ardyn moored the vessel upon ruins near the edges of the once vast cliffs and waterfalls and closer to the entrance. Less likely to be torn asunder in the impeding battle. 

Before he allowed either of them to proceed further, the fallen king pulled Noctis to himself. His lover was pale and sickly still; nervous and trembling. He knew the trepidation Noctis had with this deity. The fear that claimed those alluring dusky blue eyes. 

Gloved hand rested upon the king’s cheek. “Noct.” He laughed lowly brushing a thumb over a bottom lip he has tasted so many times before.  
“We will deliver a divine corpse to the bottom of her beloved waters.” Among the eerie quiet Ardyn kissed him-- pouring what hunger he had for his lover into the gesture: That all encompassing need to possess this man. --Whatever it took as Noctis’ Oracle to drive away the King of Kings’ doubts. 

The resolve he bore felt as though it arrived out of pure spite, in the end. Noctis was tired; tired of many things. He no longer wanted to wait around for some kind of understanding or absolution. This had to be the end of it. While Ardyn offered him warmth; a confident chuckle—the small laugh that came from him was rough and mirthless; wicked in its nature. 

As it was the more he learned about the Astrals and about Ardyn, the more his rage manifested. It was so subtle and quiet that he thought it was all of his own doing; knew nothing of how one could succumb to the influence of Daemons inside one's own mind—how it could twist and pull your very being into something you'd never recognize. 

His voice quieted them all for a moment though, and the passionate kiss brought to his lips left Noctis imbued with a warmth he didn't understand. It almost made him sleepy; sluggish—the sort of warmth and trust that Ardyn's affections now brought to the surface in him. He returned the kiss, clumsy and unsure at first, but his hands found their way to the nape of Ardyn's neck, passing warm and reassuring paths over the soft skin hidden beneath layers of curls. 

"I'm going to make her pay--" He'd already delivered on that promise more than once. "All of them, for what they've done." 

Just because millennia had passed-- because their dark deeds were scant included in the historical record—it didn't absolve them of their sins. Fallible deities had no place guiding mankind's destiny. 

He stood on his toes, almost nose-to-nose with his beloved dark Oracle, and let his breath ghost against his lips for a moment before stealing another kiss; warm but brief. It quieted the things writhing in his rib cage, and normally he might think that he was quite enamored—but he was beginning to suspect that this was something he might have to get used to; the response of myriad Daemons multiplying and reacting to a force much more powerful than they-- pressed so close to the container they'd been dribbled into. 

Noctis didn't care if the Scourge inside of him was repelled by Ardyn. He didn't care if it tried to tear itself from him, if it addled his mind until he could no longer think or be called himself. He muttered then, more for himself than anyone else: " _For you_." 

And he moved suddenly—giving Ardyn a harsh shove as he phased beside him in a burst of blue and violet (tainted) light—and out of the way of one of the water deity's ghostly water apparitions. With a snarl that was barely human, Noctis took Ardyn's wrist firmly in his hand—protective gesture almost comical looking when taking into account their height difference. Best move and quickly if they didn't want to chance losing their ride back to the Lucian mainland.

"C'mon. As fast as we can, down to the altar. We face her there."


	13. To Conquer the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leviathan's rage pulls them in. Can Ardyn and Noctis defeat her with their strength of will alone?

Time grew short in all manner of things. Ardyn could sense it within his lover in the changes the Daemons were inflicting upon his soul. Unless something could be done to stop it he doubted they would be able to complete their task before the light had been turned to another singular purpose: to keep Noctis human. 

The Daemons were bringing about a change however subtle in the Chosen King, leaving Ardyn unsure if he was entirely thrilled about this darker side of him. He did not wholly dislike it, but why it had come about was another matter. Instead Ardyn tried to drown himself in the feel of soft lips against his own and that warm affection Noctis offered him unconditionally. If anything it allowed him to forget in these moments of the horde slumbering beneath his very flesh. 

Brows rose at the last words muttered, however, Ardyn could not dwell upon its meaning and what was flourishing between them. 

" _For you,_ "

Leviathan was not content to wait any longer for their passions and prettied words. He snorted through his nose at the sight the two of them must have made; Noctis attempting to protect him of all people. “I do not fancy a swim back.” 

Dagger came to being in the sound of shattered glass to his hand; a far faster way to reach the tutelary deity’s altar. No doubt she would wish to speak her mind. Free arm pulled Noctis closer still, encouraging him to hold tight to him. Best to not waste the king’s limited strength after all. “Keep a tight grip your majesty. Would be a shame to participate in a bath when I have yet to make a mess of you.” 

Blade was thrown again and again until finally Ardyn could embed it into what remained of Leviathan’s altar. The seas drew quiet and still as they landed. 

“Leviathan.” The Accursed taunted her as she were nothing more than a pet he wished to call inside for the evening. “My dear it is quite rude to invite your guests with open arms and then keep them waiting.” 

The fight was inevitable, now. For the first time in ages, Noctis’ stomach lurched as they warped from the precipice down to the ruined cobblestone streets and further still to the altar itself, still standing by some gross divine providence. He stumbled slightly as Ardyn called out to the Tidemother—could feel something thick and gross bubbling up in his throat, as though the more his rage rose the more the Scourged blossomed and bloomed and spread throughout his veins. 

A tidal wave and rumbling came from the depths before she rose screeching from her watery home into the blackened sky. Colossal snake-like head shifted regarding the Accursed Immortal and the True King. Jaws snapped idly in anticipation, for her patience was short and as foul as her temper. Anger felt upon the very air like a thick, impenetrable fog. Her voice deep, unearthly and incomprehensible to all say for the two that took before her. 

“ _Blasphemous ingrate and an insufferable heretic dare to stand before their goddess covered in blood of kin. Lowly, blighted specks address us in such a sacrilegious manner._ ” Fins shifted and blew harsh winds towards the pair. Now above using her covenant to drive lances of pain through the Chosen’s skull. “ _Mortal man is indignant to the blessings gifted from his goddess. Reign of false king is laid to rest here so only we remain to devour all ungrateful specks!_ ” The serpent roared and coiled. Energy rushed forward with jaws opened wide to make good upon her threat.

His breath came labored, but he refused to show fear like he had ten years prior. Noctis was hunched as Leviathan’s booming voice split his head, the magic in his eyes flaring garish neon as he rasped for breath. He drew his father’s sword from the aether, favored as it was—and momentarily used it to prop himself up. 

Her threats fell upon him as the waves of wind and water, cold and brackish in the darkness. If one looked up, the pallid halo of where the sun rode high in the sky could just barely be made out if you were looking for it—but all that filtered through was greenish, eerie glow that offered little in the way of illumination. 

In Noctis’ mind he saw those eyes boring out of the darkness again, and teeth that were too sharp to be entirely human watching him. Beckoning, offering him oblivion and power. 

“Blessings? Blessings? You call your haphazard aid a blessing? **Fuck you**! You did this, all of this—it’s because of you and your damned sibling’s so-called benevolence.” 

The accusation was hardly barked from his lips before the serpent eased back and coiled to strike. Noctis had to think fast. It was in his nature to offer protection, and protect he did–

Before she could reach the altar, he tossed his blade ahead and used it to cling to her beaklike snout. Again, the fear of her gargantuan size struck him—remembered the incredible force of her plying the waters beneath him when he’d fallen into them in the first fight against her. From his arsenal, he pulled an ampoule charged with lightning and slammed it into her before throwing himself back, but her thrashing clipped him in his descent and sent him careening—as the goddess’ mouth opened wide to snap shut on him and make her repeated threats a sickening reality as the king of light was swallowed whole.

The world spun into darkness, leaving Noctis reeling. He was encompassed by something wet—but it wasn't cold, something wasn't right—every now and then he was able to take a breath of oxygen, but everything else burned, acrid stench of acid and innards. That alone was enough to make clear to him the awful truth of where he was. He hadn't been fast enough to get away. 

As the suffocating muscles of a serpentine esophagus closed around him, he hacked and slashed as fast as he could with the blade he'd been carrying against the onslaught. He'd almost forgotten that he had summoned it. Noctis had seen many things; even tasted death itself. It was not easy to pull him into a panic, and yet here was something so disturbing that he couldn't have prepared himself for it. 

Over and over he cut at the flesh, startled by the vibrations of the goddess' screams as the space opened up and allowed him to fall further. The small pocket he'd been in had begun to fill with blue-black blood, and he was soaked in it before the cry opened up and swept it away. His arm was aching—he was getting nowhere, but did he have the strength or ability to summon his full Armiger like this? 

The ring glinted on his hand as he weighed his possibilities. The momentary fixation as he hung from his sword buried in Leviathan's insides as a grip was broken by that whisper. 

Suddenly he was aware of where he'd heard it before. Just before he had previously summoned Ifrit amid the standing stones of Duscae. It was his voice he had been hearing then—but why? To what end? And why did Ardyn forbid him from summoning? Surely, a fire deity would want to be anywhere but here right now, amidst the one element that could easily snuff his flames. 

"Call me to your side, Chosen King. I will be yours. I will give you the power you crave." Louder now, more insistent. It made the ichor tainting his blood begin to churn, a strange and awful thrill at its master calling to it. 

But Ardyn had demanded that he never give in; never accept the Scourge's offer of power-- 

He sucked in a suffocating breath; not enough air. He couldn't keep it up much longer—shallow little gasps made his head spin as he focused in on the ring instead, not Ifrit's astral shard. He'd keep his promise. 

If fire was what he needed—he had his own. 

The ring of the Lucii glinted to life, brighter, brighter as the crystal's light began to fill the space with its density. Though his vision darkened, though his lungs screamed and his veins pumped acid, Noctis poured his every last ounce of energy into the white flame of Holy that began to suddenly hiss and boil away at the writhing flesh surrounding him, until the force of the heat burst a gaping hole in the Tidemother's throat and blew him free—just as he lost consciousness—into the churning waters below. 

Burning burning burning from the inside and Leviathan could do naught more but thrash at the pain inflicted both inside and out by the two heathens that dared to attack her. Her screeches and cries cut off just as her head nearly was. Deep sapphire blood blossomed forth to taint the waters below. No muscles remained attached to hold her gigantic form aloft from where the ring had burned through; a ghastly hole large and gaping. The sea serpent began to fall and fall into the waters, struggling to maintain control over a body that was entirely failing her. 

A warp Ardyn made to stay out of the way of her body crashing into her realm. She could not keep upright, head held on only by her spine and scant sinew. The rest of her gargantuan form was rendered useless and struggling. Leviathan would be easy to pick off now, but his concern drew to Noctis. Eyes darted, searching before he caught sight of his partner just as his body hit the waters right before the Tidemother. 

He could think of no worse place for the Chosen to be aside from in Ifrit’s arms. A snake even with its head severed could still bite. Alone Ardyn knew he would not be enough to finish her off. He needed the Crystal’s light. Only that damnable ring could sever the Hydrean’s connection from the life of the star. Without it her immortality would cease to be and so would she. 

No choice remained except to enter the turbulent seas himself. The waters were cold and dark making it hard to search out his lover from where he had fallen. Leviathan was nearby-- he could hear her raging and twisting in agony trying to reach the Chosen too. 

A glint of dying light from the ring finally clued him into Noctis’ location. Even with the Armiger and its power to push him forward swimming against the current proved difficult. Arms barely pulled his partner into them before Leviathan’s gaping maw was upon them ready to snap and finish the job. Barely was Ardyn able to push them from the surface. 

“Noctis! Noctis! You may find your beauty rest later.” Ardyn shook him hovering above the waters in midair. Lips pressed over the Chosen’s own, prying his mouth open with his tongue to breathe into him desperately hoping that it would revive him.

Perhaps it was a mercy that Noctis had lost consciousness before he had hit the thousand needles of stinging pain that was the ocean's surface. Beneath was jagged debris that had found its rest ten years prior, but he did not have time to sink so far. Ardyn's arms found him and dragged him to the surface, hovering now in crimson light. 

The King was unaware of it for the most part, drawn only by the power of the ring and something else much darker. It worked within him to stitch broken ribs, the light of the Crystal ebbing slightly as though it sensed that this evil force was better at this than it—at keeping itself alive; at propagating and maintaining its vessel. As the push of breath past his lips and forced its way past the bubble of saltwater and ichor in his throat, he felt a gush of it come up. It felt more like liquid fire than water—and he wondered if he was being punished from afar. 

The seas still churned, what was left of the haughty sea goddess writhing and thrashing—massive bubbles from her still sentient head making the circular sacred space before the altar appear as though it were a cauldron set to boil. 

Water, grey with the ichor of the Scourge and Leviathan's foul blood poured from Noctis' mouth as he choked—far more to expel than any normal, truly living person could have abided in their lungs. He began to understand now, as consciousness came back muddy and muted, that it was mortals that were considered truly alive; those who could not die would never live again. He was now this same awful contradiction along with Ardyn-- 

But that was only partly true. He carried the only game changer left to them; the whole of the light of the crystal now dwelling within the ring on his hand. 

He could not yet speak, found himself less capable of it than before even as he wiped at and smeared the black tainting his lips and eyes, welling up and spilling over as the crystal's light and the Scourge itself tangled with each other in an attempt to heal their vessel without destroying one another. 

He raised his hand, trembling and gasping for breath as he tried to make Ardyn understand without words. He pressed against his chest for a moment, then fumbled for the Acurssed's hand. With great effort he managed to grind out: "Help me."-- before he poured what was left of his energy into the ring's fire, white flames leaping as he pulled her astral shard from the aether. 

Black ichor bubbled forth and expelled not out of a true transformation, but as a testament to the proverbial struggle within his lover which raised much concern. He nearly growled and raged in frustration that his attempt to draw the plague into himself had failed. At this rate they would be unable to complete their task when it came time for Bahamut’s turn. 

Later. Ardyn **would** deal with this later. 

White sclera blossomed to black. Ghastly lines of the Scourge within him painted veins and paled bronzed skin. If Noctis required his help the Accursed would freely offer aid in turn. His own darkness could weaken her and give the Crystal’s Light an attachment. The conflict bore between two opposing forces could tear and render her asunder; both body and soul. 

Fingers intertwined and squeezed in reassurance of mutual understanding. The ring burned and sent the Daemons writhing in rage and pain underneath his skin with the light it bore. Chosen King shifted within Ardyn’s arm to face the sea just below them. If not for the elder immortal’s immense strength, Noctis would have slipped from his hold and into the churning maelstrom beneath.

Noctis was only barely aware of what was happening as Ardyn’s visage shifted. He was used to the sight now—blurry and far away as his ravaged lungs began to fail him completely. Leviathan’s shrieks split the night open, even in his mind as synapses failed to fire, body’s responsiveness falling away entirely; save for the grip of Ardyn’s hand against his, and the singular focus of the thought—pouring his heart and energy into directing the ring’s fire. 

Fingers then disentangled enough to allow Ardyn ability to draw his oppressive violet and magenta light to the surface. Dancing, crackling, darkened light that clashed and sizzled with the raging tendrils of white as his lover’s hand lay against the back of his own. 

“ _When she strikes._ ” His voice twisted and spun to something not entirely human. 

Ardyn's gaze focused in on the flailing god whose head rose with one cold, yellow eye aiming in a last stand to devour the creatures that that dared to place themselves higher than the gods. Her beak was splayed wide and foaming as it broke the surface to end the usurpers of divine providence. 

Leviathan swallowed the blinding light of the Crystal and the mixed essences of the same with daemonic power woven in. A multi-colored brilliance that twisted and writhed over one another. Cries of the Tidemother screeched near deafening echoing ominously into the night sky as her body began to break and expand until chunks of flesh, sapphire blood, and light exploded into the air and sea. 

“Crush it.” Ardyn urged feeling Noctis’ life starting to slip away. Hold tightened a silent message that he was here and he had a hold of him no matter if that temporary oblivion rose to claim him.

Finally, from far away Ardyn’s voice came to him—and Noctis shook as he tried to obey. If he could only do this, then Leviathan could not muster another attack; could not retain her form. A snarled sound expelled the last of his breath as all that was left of his strength crumbled the astral shard in his hand. Not nearly the spectacular burst of astral dust that the others had been, but it would do. It had to. 

Noctis fell limp almost immediately, head lolling against his lover’s chest as his struggle to breathe ceased. 

The plague’s ichor receded from him, but the light of the Crystal glinted in his wounds, suggesting that of course—this death was temporary. There was still enough of its light to bring him back from the jaws of death itself and hopefully enough to face Ifrit and Bahamut—but that was for another time. 

In the hazy, distant landscape of the Crystal to which all those touched by destiny returned, he drifted out of space and time. Noctis remembered finding himself there the first time, pulled in forcibly by Bahamut himself. He tried not to think about it for too long, for fear of summoning the silent watcher and risking the loss of the covenant which was the only way they had to force him to show his damnable face. Though—Noctis supposed that if he were responsible for what Bahamut was he might hide away for eternity as well. 

That day, he had trusted the power of the crystal so desperately. Had called on it to save his friends, his people-- himself, and it had betrayed him. 

He shifted, the weightlessness making his mind drift—and he found tendrils of black wrapped around him, anchoring him in place. Noctis struggled, tried to swipe it away, but it twined tighter and tighter, further up his limbs until he was gasping for air, gasping—gasping– 

As adrenaline died, pain made itself known. The hand that sat so close the Crystal’s light was charred, burnt, and in places exposed bone and sinew to the cool night. Ichor tainted blood slowly dripped from it to the waters below. Black ash rose into the air from Daemons fighting to repair the damage wrought. A terrible aching pain Ardyn would have to ignore. 

Both arms were necessary now to hold up the dead weight of his lover. The thought crossed his mind to go immediately to their ship and start the journey back to Galdin Quay. However, it could wait least until parts of his flesh had mended. The struggle with Leviathan had drained him as anger tampered off. Slowly, he drifted both of them to her broken altar no longer in the splendor of its old glory. No longer could she be beckoned from the deep. 

Noctis was kept close. The grey streaks he wiped from his face, but Ardyn had to be careful not to touch the light that seeped through his skin for that would send the Daemons into a frenzy. The light was a sign. A good one that meant Noctis’ soul was not yet completely corrupted. There was still time yet remaining to them to figure out how to save him. 

It was an act of desperation and determination he knew as the once healer primed the one hand not still mending with the light of the crystal still inside of him. Motions went through with practiced ease and words of the old tongue fell from his lips. The twisting of the Scourge in Noctis’ veins that resisted all the same as before-- A painful, snapping rebound effect the same as before left his fingers numb and a sneer upon his face. 

For now all he could do was shelter and protect a cadaver. Myriad thoughts and acts of vengeance upon the Infernian whom he was certain this was the doing of curled and seethed through Ardyn's mind. As silence broken only by the crashing of waves stretched on Ardyn noted the audience they had garnered: The remnants of Altissan society on the far side of the bay. They kept their distance, but surely had bore witness to the splendor of a divine death.

In time they grew bolder, drawing closer to the two men upon the altar. It was then that Ardyn made leave of the altar and warped them up to leave Altissa in the ship. His hand was still healing, but well enough to command the boat back to the mainland. From there they would seek out Ravatogh. The sooner Ifrit could be felled the better. 

The first grasp of breath completely drew Ardyn’s attentions away from steering. They were mid-ocean nearing the mainland. Hands brushed over cheeks and hair in reassurance. Those dusky blue eyes filled with confusion and fatigue. 

The bright landscape of the heart of the star was gone from Noctis' eyes, replaced with the darkness of ruin that he had become familiar with though, it was taking some time for the Crystal to repair the damage done to his brain while being starved for oxygen. 

“Did we do it? Is she dead?” Was all he could manage at first. 

“Leviathan lies as a wonderful corpse at the bottom of Altissa. Well in pieces, but details my dear.” He pressed a kiss to the edge of his lover’s lips.

A wonderful corpse, huh? It took a good deal of time for the meaning of what had been said to sink in. Noctis lifted his head—but found himself too weak to hold it for long. 

A low groan and he managed a frown. 

"The bottom...?" Noctis looked momentarily frustrated. "But—this is like. The catch nobody's ever gonna believe. I didn't even get a _trophy_?" 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, addled and trying to repair itself—it seemed that Noctis had seriously considered this; coming back with a tooth or something. In the end, he was still the haughty young man he had once been; and still the master angler at heart, it seemed. 

And then: "We could've fed all the refugees eel for like... a month." He noted, a playful edge in his voice as he finally—very gingerly—managed to sit up. 

His lungs still burned, and his throat felt like it was full of glass—but they had made it, and Leviathan who had terrified him perhaps more than any of the others was dead. He looked at Ardyn for several long moments, the waves beneath their vessel almost calm and inviting in their stark contrast—and he let out a burst of giddy laughter. 

They couldn't die, both bound to their destinies—but there was a part of Noctis that genuinely feared not being able to complete their task somehow or another. It was still a bit terrifying to wrap his mind around the infallible nature of their bodies; but for now, it was working. Obviously—he imagined that if Bahamut hadn't severed the crystal's power from the source and poured it into the ring that he would not be nearly so indestructible. An unwise decision one might have called "putting all of your eggs in a basket." 

He licked cracked lips as he ran his hands back through salt-crusted hair and tried to think back on the details made fuzzy by his body's break down. 

"She swallowed me! I... I _burned_ my way out just before I lost consciousness. Ifrit—I heard him again, offering me power..." He mused. 

For once Ardyn felt a bit of relief at hearing Noctis joke as he did. That prince was still inside the visage of the man before him even if other parts of him had changed in the decade long slumber. If Noctis was still acting as Noctis it meant the Scourge had not buried as deeply as he feared. His companion was still fighting the onslaught that wished to consume him whole. 

“What good would a trophy do? If you did not notice we had a most captive audience for the spectacle. Tales are being spun as we speak. O Chosen King great slayer of the colossal sea serpent.” Fortunate consequence for them that the crowd did not follow. Ardyn doubted he would have allowed the interlopers life. Their interruptions would be most unwelcome in a task that quickly became more sensitive to time. 

As Noctis' mind cleared further, the fog slipping away in the crisp sea breeze, Noctis leaned forward. He was tired, but it wasn’t the worst he’d ever felt, even though he was recovering from a bout of… death. What a weird thing to be able to think–

He blinked and tilted his head, wincing as he shifted. “People… saw us?” 

It was really only a matter of time. It could upset what little delicate balance was left in the world, unfortunately and yet—Noctis couldn’t really bring himself to care that much. Let them talk. Let them tremble. From what he had seen of the world, it had been terribly without a sense of purpose for some time, waiting; a deep breath before the fatal plunge into darkness. 

Bring the dawn, end their suffering—but for what? Noctis’ mind had turned to Bahamut once more, but Ardyn it seemed had a different focus. 

A fresh bottle of soda was opened in front of his lover and pressed against his lips as soon as his words were finished. More of the same remedy that would slow the progression of the Scourge still yet inside the King. 

Eyes narrowed and a fresh blossom of anger bloomed within the Accursed’s chest once he processed the new clues given. Teeth gritted. Lips drawn to a thin line. Bottle clenched tightly in his grip pulled it away from Noctis’ lips. Power brimmed just along the surface of bronzed skin waiting to be unleashed at this revelation. The Infernian dared to interfere. All of this corruption lingering within the Chosen one was his doing. 

It was all he needed to put that last piece into place. Know without unclouded certainty. Ifrit purposefully went after Noctis to torment his unfaithful servant. This pollution was never about halting his own end, but to drive Ardyn into his arms. Come begging before his throne for the fire god’s love for it was all Ifrit would allow for. All it has always been. 

Had the god been before them now, Ardyn would have tangled fingers around that neck and choked the very life from the eyes of Uriah. 

“Noctis.” His voice belayed his barely contained anger. His hand outstretched with palm facing upwards. “You will return the shard I gifted you in the Citadel _**now**_.” Without it Ifrit would find a harder time contacting his lover and remove any temptation the king may have possessed in summoning him again. 

“His death will come swiftly. I grow bored of his games.”

Noctis' brow furrowed as the Accursed demanded the shard he’d offered him as collateral; as proof of his promise to carry out their unholy plan. His initial instinct was to acquiesce and yet something inside of himself fought. Suspicion rose up in him, whispers urging him to disobey. 

“But why–? What does Ifrit have to do with anything? I think he’s just as… bent on vengeance as we are, isn’t he?” Though Noctis wasn’t sure how he knew that. 

Again, he was greeted with slivers of memory, splinters in his mind. Pale, white hands gripping him—Long fingers shoved into his mouth to quiet him as he screamed against the pain. 

Noctis did not need to know anything concerning the Infernian. The Chosen would wish to do as he had always done: intervene. Ifrit wanted Noctis. Revealing what Ardyn knew would only encourage his lover into that damnable petty creature’s hands. The deity of fire and passion was the Accursed’s alone to deal with least Ifrit try to speed up the process warring in the king’s body. 

Suddenly shaken, Noctis realized that he had drawn back from Ardyn—flinched away from him; and he never wanted to do that. If the whispers’ influence was making him think and do such things, then he wanted nothing to do with it. Wordless, seductive, the force begged him not to do as he was told, but Noctis finally pulled the Astral shard from the aether with a burst of crystalline light. 

“Take it.” He said through grit teeth, holding it out in his fist as though he were afraid he might not be able to let go of it if Ardyn didn’t pry it from his fingers. 

“Ifrit can only be trusted so long as our interests align.” A pause. “They no longer do.” His tone left no room for argument. He would not suffer Noctis’ curiosity and questions now. Allow the man to formulate and come to his own veritable conclusions. The shard was taken in a strong grip and away from Noctis. The Infernian’s whisper settled more clearly in the immortal’s mind; a deadly whisper full of threat. 

**‘What are you doing?’**

No response from his ever reluctant servant would come to answer a jaded god. Ardyn had his own reasons. No longer would Ifrit find it easy to invade Noctis’ thoughts nor tempt him into another summoning. Without the shard there was no way to call Ifrit. That rested solely in Ardyn’s hands now, and he had quite a few qualms with the Astral. Ones that almost made him clench his fists until flesh broke and blood flowed. 

The small crystal of fiery red disappeared in crystalline light into the Armiger space of the fallen king. Had he been more concerned for anything other that severing what hold Ifrit had on his lover he would have felt something in response to the Chosen’s flinch. However, there was a slight discomfort and fear in blue eyes he could not be brought to ignore. Brought to be soothed over by a kiss to Noctis’ lips. He knew too much already if he was wise to Ifrit wishing for revenge. “He has spoken to you? When?”

He felt almost instantly some of the fog and negative feelings lifted from him as Ardyn pried the crystal from his hand and whisked it away into his own Armiger. Noctis did not however, answer the inquiry right away. He lifted his head to where he could see the faintest light where he knew the sun rode low in the sky ( sickly, pallid, greenish tint and little more ) as he tried to collect himself. 

Slowly, vague memories—snippets of Lestallum, filthy back streets; an apparition of a willowy, beautiful androgynous creature. He swallowed hard and took a trembling breath. 

"During the fight just now and I—I guess up until now I've been telling myself the things I've been hearing... sensing—are just because the Scourge is messing with my head." For a few moments, Noctis fell silent, a finger slightly raised to indicate that he meant to continue talking as soon as he'd collected his thoughts again. 

"I.. It was in Lestallum. I don't remember very well but I do remember a... a man. Tall and thin. White skin, copper hair and teeth. Like... I thought he was just normal but there was something about his teeth. Like there were.... too many. Too sharp." The memory alone was enough to make him nearly break out in a cold sweat. 

Ardyn could be the most patient of men when it pleased him. Noctis’ brain was clearly addled and not just from his most recent fatal affliction. He remained silent allowing his partner to gather thoughts and give voice to what had happened in Lestallum. 

Ifrit idled on the edge of Ardyn’s mind trying to assert himself into the Accursed’s thoughts, but he had centuries of experience of ignoring him. If anything he was given the same credence as the near constant scratching of daemonic souls. 

That hand that had been raised to signal for Ardyn to wait a moment drifted up to Noctis' own face—fingertips brushing the curve of his lips, the shape of his jaw down to his throat as though tracing the path that Ifrit's fingers—in the form of Uriah—had taken over his skin that night in the street. Noctis' heart began to pound, and he felt sick though he blamed it on the Scourge ravaging him, now doing battle against a Crystal's light slightly diminished as it always was after being strained and used; stretched to the limit. 

"I kept seeing some awful figure dripping in black in my dreams. Eyes like burning coals. Horns like a Mesmenir. Grabbing me, pinning me down--" He stopped, unwilling to say anything more detailed than that as he shook his head, a look of repulsion in his eyes. 

Was it a dream? Had it ever been **just** a dream? 

Noctis rubbed his face and looked for the shore. He refused to cast his eyes in the direction of Angelgard again, now feeling only disgust for the sight of it. 

The Scourge didn’t speak in words that could be understood. Daemons were inarticulate things that only gave feelings and inclinations; not words that could be deciphered. It only amplified Ardyn’s concern as Noctis continued. That description Ardyn knew too well. The deceivingly handsome face of a petty god who had committed the most heinous of slights against the Immortal Accursed now. His visage twisted into something ugly, brutal, and vicious. 

His anger was not directed towards Noctis in the slightest. He had been a victim of what he could only assume was Uriah’s vast control of mental power and the fog of confusion he could induce in his targets. Ardyn had fallen for it a few times in the past, but he was far too wise to the trick now to ever fall victim again. He _trembled_. Only visible in the slightest of fashions as he shoved the rage beneath the surface to give rise to the most calm of facades. “He will die for his transgressions even if I have to tear him limb from limb with my bare hands.” 

As far as Noctis was concerned, he no longer found Ardyn frightening. He couldn't and wouldn't be killed by him—and his friends were not near enough to be used as collateral. Even at his most dangerous, Noctis had begun to believe that Ardyn would not harm people for no reason anymore—or just to hurt him. Now, Ardyn knew he had the power to hurt him directly, and if he derived pleasure from it then it was for the better. Noctis was a masochist in his own right, and he could accept even Ardyn's most twisted attention as affection now.   
Though outwardly Ardyn remained as cool as any seasoned politician, he gave off the distinct air of a dangerous, malevolent predator willing to strike at moment’s notice. He pressed his lips to his lover’s throat, jaw, and finally his lips as though his touch alone could erase away where Ifrit had violated.   
Noctis did however, flinch again—eyes a bit wide if only for the level of rage that was almost palpable as it rolled in waves from Ardyn's form. He was half expecting him to lash out—to burst into a much less controlled rage when he pulled close, kisses being pressed to skin still salty from seawater. It melted away what fear and apprehension that Noctis felt almost immediately and he slipped his arms around Ardyn's shoulders, pressing him close until he moved to pull away. 

“You are _mine_. **Not** his.” Ardyn growled in a long, dark drawl before pulling back entirely to navigate the ship to shore.

That growl, the insistence that Noctis belonged to him—in another "life" it would have irritated him. He'd have fought it bitterly no matter who had said it. But now, in the circumstances that had been wrought, it brought him comfort and a sense of pride. Noctis closed tired eyes for a few moments as he settled back into his seat, Galdin Quay drawing nearer.

"Yours, huh. I guess I am." 

His tone wasn't mocking, but gentle and full of promise. He would gladly let that be—if Ardyn wanted him to be his... well, he already was, wasn't he? 

The dock of the Quay drew within sight. Just long enough for Ardyn to further conceal the seething rage behind his eyes and in his heart. He and Ifrit would have words. Heated, nasty, gnarled words.

The King of Kings let the now calm ocean lull him, and he dozed off for a bit before they made it to shore. For the first time in days, his dreams were not evil and dark—or any more-so than they had ever usually been. 

Ardyn derived his own enjoyment from hearing those words in return. The Chosen knew where his place was: _by his side_. He would suffer no less including the machinations of the two gods that remained alive to force the world to dance to their tune. So tired and sick was he to dance to the waltz Ifrit orchestrated. No more. 

Soon he would break the god’s hold upon him and with any luck alleviate the affliction harbored within his lover with the god’s demise. Without Ifrit’s magic to bind it his own may have a chance to save Noctis still.


	14. The Covenant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon returning from their struggle against Leviathan, Ardyn carries an exhausted Noctis to a safe place to rest. He then turns his fury upon Ifrit, confronting him for what he has done-- though he is unaware of just how great the consequences may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter got... at least twice as long as I wanted it to, but there was only one good place to cut it and it would've only shaved 5k words off anyway so. Here ya go.

His rage would not calm-- just be brought to hide out of sight. It continued on even as he moored the ship at the dock. Doubtful they would ever require its services again, but best not to let the ocean claim it as her own. The task fell to him alone as he allowed Noctis the rest he would sorely need. Ifrit would not make the task easy on him especially once the god realized that Ardyn had lied. He would _not_ be spared.

He left Noctis briefly, although still within sight as he scanned the area for stray Daemons; allowing his presence to force them to cower and flee. Only once a path was clear to the hotel room did Ardyn return for their things and more importantly Noctis. He gathered only a bag or two leaving the rest for later before hefting the Chosen into his arms like one would a bride. No need to wake him from his blissful slumber. It suited the Accursed’s purpose better this way. Noctis could not interfere if he was off to the world of temporary oblivion sleep offered.

The room was a mess, but it would have to do. Though eager the Accursed was to take to the road, Noctis needed to recover. Time was taken to place him within the confines of a relatively undisturbed bed. Assured that his lover was still yet out of the world, Ardyn slipped through the stitches of Eos to a point in the middle of the plains of Leide. 

So dark and desolate, but it mattered little for his plans. The red shard of the Infernian was pulled from the aether and held within his palm. Such a small thing he had not used in some centuries. Ifrit often made his presence known without calling upon the covenant. Rage still so great that he demanded an audience. He would no longer suffer Ifrit’s slights. 

Air crackled around him as his eyes turned to the same garish pink hue Noctis’ own took on when calling upon one of the Six. The crystal shard in turn burned in red light to be seen from at least a mile away. It beckoned the Infernian through a shared bond to Ardyn’s side. He knew the god would come. He had only but to wait.

The dusty landscape was stirred by a hot, dry wind. The desert was now locked in eternal night, lacking the once constant sweltering heat that had been its normal biome. The wind was out of place; unnatural, and only heralded a burst of searing flame that swirled in a menacing vortex. When the light faded enough for it to be looked at directly, Ifrit’s massive throne, wrought by the bones of countless dead; centuries of sacrifices offered up to him (no longer) had materialized on the plains—likely visible by the light of its flame alone for miles.

No, this time Ifrit did not deign it worth his time to appear in the lesser form of Uriah and his tender pale limbs and soft features. He came now before Ardyn with all the fury and heat of the god that he was, infallible golden crown upon his brow and horns, wicked scimitar at his side. When he spoke, it was not in the ancient language of the Astrals but in the garbled, ugly voice of the Daemons of the Starscourge– a language one might say was unique between he and Ardyn alone, though Noctis might soon find himself quite fluent in it. 

“You called? What ever is it that my oh-so- _faithful_ servant could want?” His tone was airy, twisted with his disdain and mockery. 

Yes—Ardyn was a nuisance now. Noctis would be a much more pliant toy for him. Much easier to twist and use. A soft sigh, knowing that the challenge soon to come to him was inevitable. 

“Enough though, as you see—all that my mind is full of is the thought of how lovely The King of Light could be if made to crawl at my feet. But you hate that, don’t you? Who thought a withered, **frigid** vessel like you could learn to care for someone so much?” 

That damnable tongue of wretched souls that often screeched of the child, the mother, or the brother lost beneath the depths of the pathogen. The ones inside of the Accursed no longer spoke as individuals. Ardyn’s own will made sure his was the only voice inside his own head-- aside from the ever present scratching of course. 

“Frigid as the snows of your dead sister?” Ardyn did not dare lower himself to the tongue of daemons even if he harbored them within his soul. He had more class than Ifrit. It was all a part of the mind games they played. A way for Ifrit to say he came in a state that would bear no foolishness. Ardyn had fallen from the god’s favor which did not bother him so. What did however grate upon his very bones was how this lowly creature referred to _his_ Chosen. 

No fear. No cowardice. The Accursed was far too seething under the surface for such emotions to even be a fleeting thought in his mind. “You mistake a shared goal and mutual agreement between two immortal, damned souls as caring.” Ardyn clicked his tongue in annoyance. “My how far you truly are from understanding humanity.”

Ifrit stood correct on one thing and one thing alone: the topic he came to discuss. “Tell me, my dear Ifrit, are you such an impatient god to not wait until the Chosen and I had eliminated the other Five before coming to you? But you could not, could you?” His voice held venomous edge of a viper poised and ready to strike. Fury barely contained behind the facade of calm. 

“ _You infected him_.” The mask broke for that brief moment. Words delivered in an almost growling manner. 

“Infected him? Ah, yes—I suppose that was my doing. I was more interested in the way his body accepted me so willingly. Why, I had to nearly throttle the poor thing to silence his cries.” 

Ifrit acted as though the infection was just an unfortunate consequence of their coupling; as though Noctis had been conscious enough to choose such a thing—And Ardyn surely knew exactly what he meant. A burst of fire-as-breath came from his mouth as he laughed. If the Astral played his cards correctly, his overly emotional servant was likely to lose his cool entirely. Funny, how vehemently he denied and yet—The Infernian knew. 

Many forget the long history of Eos, but Ifrit did not. He had seen it all, and before he was kenned the Betrayer; the Scourge-bringer, he was the god of love and passion. All of that though, had been warped and twisted when the plague had seeped into his celestial being. 

Mayhaps that was why he raged against them now: Because he knew love: he had nurtured it for centuries, eons before the evil history of the plague had begun. He could see it as though it were tangible—and knew that it meant that Ardyn did not love him: that his heart belonged to another and had never belonged to him, despite the god’s desperate obsession with him. 

“I had to see what he had that I, a god, did not. I still see nothing. He is a speck. A blink in time. But we? We are eternal. Why do you turn from me? _How_ you break my heart.” 

He still did not stand from his massive throne, but his one hand gripped the hilt of his sword, aware that if he kept this up that Ardyn would indeed throw himself against him in a rage. 

Metaphorical blade jagged and pointed tore through the Accursed and struck at the core of barely contained rage. The divine being all but confirmed that Noctis had been taken forcibly by him through magical coercion. Noctis may have been a naive little king, but never would he be so lacking of intelligence to lay with Ifrit willingly. 

Breath escaped through his nose hard enough to cause it to twitch. A minute near imperceivable tremble of fingers and hands aching to see sword and metal rendering fire god asunder. That very same emotion that overtook him in ages past when he still raged against the gods in open fashion. He was the reason they were for so long, not allowed slumber. 

Now Ifrit, like the rest, was another dog to be put down. “Accepted you only through trickery. You do not possess what he needs and wants. You are petty and impatient.” _**Noctis would never-**_

His attention returned to the problem before him haughty upon his throne. There was nothing divine about Ifrit, and he would pay dearly. The ultimate price would be owed to him. A life. The god’s life. He was done with the Infernian’s games. Done playing the part of the servant now that Ifrit openly attacked what was his only chance he at absolution. He suffered no fools, divine or no in this regard. _None_. 

“Because Ifrit: I do not forget who so graciously aided me to this wretched existence. The one whom yet continues to selfishly try to keep a soul by his side that shall **never** love him in return. You said it yourself. My heart is as cold as ice unable to love or care for anything outside of myself.” The kind hearted man of old was long dead. He died upon the executioner’s block. The Ardyn left was a far cry from him. 

And in turn, Ardyn’s barbed words cut deep. A wave of flame and super-heated air rolled from the Astral’s unearthly throne, and He slammed a massive fist into the arm of it as his rage began to boil over. Centuries of frustration and rage came to the surface now, causing him to nearly lose control of his raging flame, the fuel that made Ravatogh nearly impassable. 

“Curse you, Ardyn! You are blind and a fool. I can see it in you even now. Eros. Ludus. Philia. Mania. It’s all over you, brighter than the darkness trying to blunt it! Never have I seen you in such brilliant color since you were a living man,” Ifrit hissed. The ground beneath him rumbled, and he leaned forward, baring his teeth as the beast he was. 

“I will not stand for this. I will not be disrespected. I should have seen you always for the liar you are—And I will make your Chosen suffer an eternity for your transgressions at my hand, writhing beneath me.” He snarled in Daemonic tones. 

 

Enough. Ardyn’s lies had met his trust for the last time. “You _healed_ him. You braved the light of the crystal **for him** , you pathetic lout.” 

The scimitar was raised, and Ifrit suddenly lurched to his feet as magma splashed at his feet, hot enough to scorch the earth. The Infernian’s rage spilled over in the purest form of fire, and he slung viscous liquid at Ardyn, knowing the kind of agony that it could cause if it touched human skin—it could nearly evaporate it on contact, its heat was so intense. 

Ardyn had not seen Ifrit in such a fiery mood in centuries. In his haze of rage and anger Ardyn could only smile at the sight so vengeful, almost beautiful even. Whatever words the Infernian tried to incite the Accursed was certain that he felt none of those things least of all eros. His heart too black and cold. Those emotions too weak and could used as a weapon against him. Ifrit had gone mad in his petty, jealous ways. Too blinded by his own one-sided love for him to see the truth. 

Least-- that was what Ardyn told himself. 

But if there was one truth that fell from the god’s lip it was this: he had braved the light of the crystal that he still harbored within to heal his companion. That struck a nerve and gave him pause. He had shown Noctis proof of what lie beneath that wasn’t the Daemons. That was…

“He will **never** be yours!” Noctis had been branded tied to him by fate since before his birth. Neither Ifrit nor Bahamut would take that from him now.

Barely did he warp in time to save himself from the heat of the lava. A near miss as he felt a stinging pain from his left calf where the fire had singed away parts of his clothing. Nothing he could not manage through. If the Astral wanted a war with the fallen king then he would have it. What Ardyn would lack in immense strength he made up for in speed. The god he knew was slow in this form. That would be his one advantage without Noctis present to aid. 

Ifrit’s power was matchless in this form, but he was slow– slower than he even realized. In all their years, he had never experienced what it was like to have Ardyn rail against him at his full power—and the Accursed was gone from his sight in a split moment; Bahamut’s damnable warping power

A blade tossed multiple times allowed Ardyn to dart across the fields of ever growing molten rock and liquid until at last he was given the opening he needed; a straight, clear shot to the god’s back. Metal sunk into flesh deep leaving an agonizing wound that proceeded before the Accursed materialized grip upon the handle and he tore using his own weight as a lever to drag down, down across flesh and through bone. Ifrit snarled and moved to turn, but not before Ardyn’s own blade sank itself into his godly flesh. 

An inhuman bellow that shook the ground tore from him, and Ifrit spewed more fire in every direction he could focus to do so. Brimstone erupted from the ground as it began to crack beneath the immense heat, and lava flowed into the heart of Leide were it had never touched since the time of primordial Eos’ formation. 

“ _ARDYN_!” The roar tore through the night air, and he swung ‘round as black tainted blood splashing with sharp hisses onto the superheated rock. 

He howled again, inhuman and wild as he whirled and lept into the air, a wild kick carrying him in a graceful arc of a flip before he then slammed his fist into the ground and summoned a pillar of liquid rock, gushing into the air. Molten flecks rained down upon the surrounding area indiscriminately and daemons in the darkness howled and fled as though dawn itself was upon them. 

Ifrit was wounded and wracked with pain but he was indeed still a god. With his horns intact and his element gushing forth, a wound such as this could only hold him back for so long. Furious and egged on by his own rage, he swept a clawed hand out and made a swift grab for Ardyn with the intent of crushing him. 

Fire and brimstone made the area surrounding and the middle of the fray unbearably hot. Perspiration dotted the Accursed’s forehead, but it was only mild discomfort compared to the bubbling, seething animosity beneath his breast. 

Alone Ardyn knew he would not be enough to banish Ifrit from the world in his entirety. His buried light no longer enough to sever a god’s tie to the heart of the star. However, his efforts here would not be in vain. Gods were slow creatures to heal. Ifrit could be weakened enough for Noctis to fully obliterate when the time came-- and soon. 

Soles of his boots would not take the heat arising from the ground below for long nor could he continue to hold onto his sword embedded into divine flesh. Dismissing it and conjuring his dagger from the aether to provide a means to warp away before Ifrit’s thrashing and movement forced him off. 

“Oh how I do love how you say my name with such vitriol.” He mocked. “Sets my blood to boil.” Ever confident and self-assured. “Tell me does it hurt?” The rebellious god would be brought to witness just how terribly fallible he was. Just like his siblings he was not immune to the death that he and Noctis could deliver upon. This god would pay dearly-- most of all in Ardyn’s mind for what he sought to turn and keep for himself. 

Claws nearly found purchase before the Accursed was able to warp out of their reach. His coat snagged and tore in such a close encounter. Ifrit was clever, but Ardyn liked to think himself even more so. He reappeared upon the throne abandoned. It dwarfed him and the flames surrounding it were great, but the mockery he made of it brought him pleasure. The Accursed standing up that which only one of the Six was meant to touch. 

“Over here.” He taunted in singsong tone chased by a dark chuckle of amusement. 

The Fire deity only had himself to blame; he had helped create this monster after all. This time it was his crossbow drawn, bolts fired in rapid succession in a brilliance of what could only be crystal light blue.

Ardyn’s taunting was not a thing that surprised him, but that didn’t make it any less infuriating. Ifrit wanted him crushed, burned, crying out in agony—and it was simply not coming to fruition quite fast enough for his liking. The Scourge welled up in him, congealing wounds that would’ve taken his siblings many hours to cease the bleeding. Unfortunately, such things came with the continued screaming of the Daemons within him, begging or solace; for rest that they would never be afforded. 

A few miles away, the outpost at Hammerhead was in an uproar, and the young hunters were wildly rushing to arm themselves as their more trusted scouts darted off into the darkness in order to find out what was happening. 

As Ifrit lurched and turned to bring his scimitar down onto the throne that Ardyn so brazenly occupied. He knew that he was simply going to have to be faster. No, this fight was one that he could not simply toy with his prey. As he mustered another blast of fire from his mouth, a single man watched from the darkness of a ridge of cliffs not far away. 

He would go entirely unnoticed likely—that was why he was an ever present staple of Hammerhead’s defense now, after all. A pair of goggles borrowed from Cindy, likely, protected careworn blue-violet eyes from the blasts of hot air and brimstone as he furiously sent texts back to HQ with one hand—and snapped photos with his camera in the other. If his eyes did not deceive him, Ardyn had indeed come down from his “tower” and—he was fighting an Astral. One that he and his friends hadn’t seen on their travels ten years before...

The Infernian had no interest in the handful of hunters gathering to witness the madness of a god and a man turned immortal monster clashing against each other. They would either stay clear or be crushed or incinerated by the heat of is flames alone. 

A cruel laugh, twisted by the Daemons rising to the surface as Ifrit suddenly and violently clamped his hand down over the pommel of his blade, a shard of crystal the same luminescence as his fire flashing to life. –For it was forged from the same shard that Ardyn carried now, the nature of their pact personified—and he pushed himself into Ardyn’s mind with all the force of Eons of rage and bitterness, seeking to render the Accursed immobile by way of the splitting pain he knew he could cause. 

Darting forward, he beckoned. 

“Still, you will kneel before me once more.” 

“I will **never** kneel to you.” Crossbow was abandoned quickly for the dagger once more to place himself away from the scimitar that would rend him in two. The flames became harder and harder to dodge and avoid as they only multiplied in number. Away now from danger Ardyn took a moment to analyze Ifrit trying to calculate weaknesses in his mind. Areas that could be exploited for the maximum pain and to render the god immobile. A tactic used in ages’ past when he fought other Astrals for sport. They all lay dead now.

Reports the agent sent would be used to corroborate with some of the other hunters stationed within Accordo. News already came of a sighting of two men who butchered the god Leviathan whom now lay as a myriad foul chunks in Altissa’s once sacred waters. One whom fit the description of the former Chancellor while the other had yet to be identified, but was presumed dead from how badly wounded he appeared even from afar.

Pieces the hunters fitted together to form a picture most grim: two extremely powerful men were traveling across the countryside murdering the Six. The cries in the night sky and weather disturbances as of late all their doing.

Ardyn would not be aware of how humanity scrambled to make sense of the events unfolding. His aim and attention was upon Ifrit and Ifrit alone. Funny that the god finally got what he desired, but not quite in the way he had hoped. His focus honed most keenly upon horns. Horns. Something of the appendages screamed of a weakness to exploit. He drew to a vicious smirk.

They would make a lovely trophy to add to his collection.

Another warp forward just as Ifrit started laughing skyward. In the midst between Ardyn felt the head splitting pain. It clouded his thoughts and drowned out almost all else. All light and sound became pointed lances of pain to add to the cacophony of a migraine building and building until he thought his head fit to burst from the immense discomfort.

And he stumbled when he materialized back into solid form, nearly falling. Knuckles gripped white upon a dagger hilt. He almost cried out in agony, but held his tongue allowing only labored breaths to belay the torment he was placed under. Ifrit was calling out to him through the covenant to force a fallen Chosen almost to his knees. Daemons howled and raged, but Ardyn would never bow. He would never allow Ifrit the satisfaction.

Vision blurred and fell out of focus. Limbs left trembling. The Accursed knew this did not bode well for his chances, but rage pushed him ever forward. The image burned into his mind of the grey streaks that flowed from Noctis’ nose, his mouth. The pain of his lover caused by Ifrit’s meddling, and: most horrifying of all-- imagining the god taking his lover in a clouded haze.

Even all of his anger in the world could not fuel his body to react faster when forced through the god’s pathway into his mind. The next bout of flames caught him as he entered the next warp burning through garments and flesh leaving his throwing arm a charred mess of burns and agony. When exited his arm could not bear to hold a grip on his blade. It clattered to the ground and this time he did lose balance.

Ifrit knew that he could not kill Ardyn; only maim and incapacitate him. If he wanted to, he could likely draw it out for weeks if he wanted to but really—Ifrit only wanted him dead enough to leave him so he could go find his prize. Ah, but he would take his time with his enjoyment and making this more delightfully personal– 

As Ardyn faltered, the Astral launched himself forward, pinning the Accursed with a single knee, the weight of which likely crushed at least one of his legs. Ifrit didn’t falter or slow to check. He couldn’t care less either way. 

The pain of his leg breaking and snapping underneath the god’s assault was almost enough to force a cry of pain from his lips. Ardyn refused to cry out. He could compartmentalize pain and agony into a mindspace behind a wall much like the temptation of further sinking into his daemons. Ifrit’s action ensured one thing that whatever came next he could not easily escape from. His leg would bear no weight and hence he could not walk. 

Thick black billows of smoke rose around them as Ifrit smothered his flames, the magma beginning to cool and receed as Ifrit’s form shifted and wavered. He wanted this to be personal. He wanted to look Ardyn in the eyes as he tore him apart. 

Daemons scrambled and raged already racing to repair the damage wrought upon their vessel, but it wouldn’t be fast enough. Ifrit’s mass diminished into his much smaller form. The Accursed tried to crawl anything to put distance between himself and the god whom would surely tear him asunder. An error had been made in forgetting the covenants were a two-way street. So long had he gone without needing to think on it that he forgot about the sheer amount of crushing torment it could inflict upon a mortal body. 

Though his form was that of a mortal, Ifrit’s power and strength was still as it was. His mortal form showed signs of the wounds Ardyn had given him, black seeping into white robes as he drove his sword into Ardyn’s chest to pin him down more securely. 

“Do you remember the feeling of being pierced by their blades?” He crooned gently and rested his hand against the wound, bubbling and oozing with the Scourge. “Do you remember the feeling of betrayal as they cut down your family?” 

As always, Ifrit spoke as if he were intoning praises for a lover.

The sword tore through Ardyn's chest and pierced deep into his liver at an angle. This pain he knew well and how to push it far, far down. It came with the lasting memory of his execution where spears, lances, and swords pierced him in a death befitting a commoner, not a king. Deceptively gentle touch brought Ardyn’s mind back to the present briefly to hear those words. 

His groomsmen, the attendants, and other members of his household cried out as they were slaughtered. Protocol when you committed regicide. Any and all support that the to be executed king needed to be cut off at the root. His wife, beautiful Selene, was the only one spared, but she suffered a worse fate. She was to be wed to Izunia. A way to cement peace in the realm since she was such a beloved queen. 

Years she would mourn the loss of her husband. Never would she know peace as she was forced to bear the children of the man whom ordered the downfall of King Ardyn. Eyes of blue. Hair of black. Her touch alone enough to soothe the Oracle King’s soul. The Accursed had lamented for her most of all. She was the last thing he had ever truly loved.

Ifrit shifted and drove his elbow into Ardyn’s shoulder a he lay over him, teeth blackened by the Scourge rising in his human vessel’s mouth as he raised his hand and pressed down viciously on Ardyn’s throat. He wondered if he’d ever died via asphyxiation—but it was almost too merciful. No matter how he struggled or clawed at him, Ifrit did not let up until he was satisfied by the agony; the smell of burning flesh so close. And then he only pulled back to lift his blade and drive it in a second time. 

Fingernails dug and clawed into the god’s hands trying to strangle the life out of him. Pulling together what he could muster to drive his magic into them and inflict whatever harm he could to Ifrit even in this weakened state. Then the burning and smell of his own flesh sizzling and cooking under the heat as all thoughts tried to flee from the lack of air as his body involuntarily gasped for it. 

He couldn’t die here. He couldn’t. If he died… Noctis would be left wide open. No one to warn him of Ifrit’s coming or protect him from that influence. His lip cracked and bled from teeth pressing sharply into in an effort to stifle any noise that would give the god pleasure. Ardyn hated that he had to… he had to flee, but the Chosen had no idea what to expect if he did not. Noctis couldn’t… he couldn’t. 

A moment was afforded to him as Ifrit released him to maim him further, and Ardyn took it. He shifted his magic searching for the space between Eos and fled through it leaving Ifrit to only pierce empty ground. 

Disjointed mind almost missed its mark as Ardyn tumbled loudly into the hotel room he had left Noctis in. He could no longer walk and trying to stand only brought fresh agony and black blood gushing. He stumbled and crawled the rest of the way, gasping in pain in search of air so sorely needed. With hands covered in blood and one of them burnt and aching, he struggled to pull himself up to the bed, but only managed to collapse with his arms and head upon the sheets. Noctis was safe. He was here. _Safe_.

Noctis had managed to sleep well, if only from the sheer exhaustion that had felled him when his body had ceased to function. Ardyn had carried him, he remembered faintly– and it had made a soft smile curl on his lips. Ardyn could hide beneath his layers of hate and vitriol, but he was still a man; still a human at the very core– that sliver of light that could seek to heal him was worth all the darkness that Noctis found himself drowning in at times. 

His dreams had been pleasant and warm; he had seen his friends, and Ardyn with them. There had been laughter and sunlight and peace– but that was jerked away from him at the sound of impact and labored breathing. He came to full consciousness as Ardyn collapsed upon the dusty sheets, the cool ocean breeze stirring the scent of brimstone from him. 

Noctis’ chest tightened as though there was a fist around his heart, and he dragged himself into a sitting position though it made his head spin. Too fast; too much– he didn’t care. 

The King gently brushed his hands through Ardyn’s hair, turning his head just enough to check to make certain that he was breathing. There was blackened blood— everywhere, and his coat had been badly damaged. 

Fire. 

“Ardyn, Fuck– what did you do? **What happened**?!” He prayed he had the strength to answer while rummaging blindly through the bag at his side for a bottle of liquid; anything would do. 

There wasn’t much left, but Noctis poured his magic into a few sips of soda, and immediately tried to get Ardyn to lift his head. 

Stubbornly Ardyn fought off the blackness at the edges of his vision that threatened to pull him under to unconsciousness. He’d be able to heal better from the damage inflected by a god so much harder to repair than normal wounds. However, he knew the moment his eyes closed and allowed himself that oblivion that Ifrit would seek out Noctis. He would take him and torture him. Twist the Chosen’s mind. _Noctis would break_. 

The wound in his chest would kill him, he knew if the bleeding did not get under control. He heard Noctis shift around trying to deduce whether his companion was alive still or not. Finally Ardyn groaned even at the minute movement to his neck. Burns shaped like fingers marred his flesh and made the whole area painful to move. What happened wasn’t important. It was trivial. The healer in him took over in an attempt to stay this bout of death that would rise up and greet him were he not careful. 

“Noct..” His face was pale and his sclera black-- eyes dripping. He had to fight to speak; to tell Noctis or attempt to on what he needed to do. Voice strained and broken through a nearly crushed trachea. His unburnt hand trembled as he brought it to his chest trying to staunch the flow of blood. “You need… to..” 

Noctis needed to do many things. Help him lay upon the bed for one. Secondly, pour his attention in the wound the Accursed was attempting to draw his gaze to. He couldn’t lift his head from this position and tried instead to use his unbroken leg to push himself further onto the bed hoping that Noctis would get the idea. It gave Ardyn something to focus onto to remain conscious and distance his mind from the agony of his body. 

Morbidly he thought of how delightful the Lucian education system had failed Noctis so utterly in this moment or maybe it was Gladio’s fault. It mattered little.

He couldn’t do anything at first but take a few moments to assess the situation in the dark. Now, with this he was going to have to set up well—something—to keep the Daemons at bay. Ardyn was wounded, and that was likely to draw the more ravenous ones out of hiding. The lanterns might do if they were going to stick it out—but first he helped Ardyn up onto the bed, teeth gritted at the knowledge that he was surely in agony. 

Noctis had to stay calm—somehow. Any way that he could manage. Taking slow, deep breaths was all that he could do in order to calm himself but it wasn’t working. 

The fear and pain—the rage that he felt whenever he saw Ardyn hurting when it wasn’t by his own hand swelled up as thick as the scourge in his throat, trying to choke out the light that had always kept him on the right path. He wanted to give into his rage and the muttering Daemons, but instead he focused on Ardyn. 

The couple swallows of soda, now charged with what healing Noctis could manage, remained in his hand as he pushed himself up and worked at peeling the charred layer of leather and cloth that was Ardyn’s coat away from him. The ragged tears in his silken shirt revealed the badly bleeding gash that pierced straight through. He was bleeding out—though it was clear that it had been an attack meant to prolong the process and the suffering. 

 

Movement brought forth fresh lances of pain racing up Ardyn's battered body. He hissed and breath came hard and panting as he was finally laid upon his back. He almost sighed in relief that his lover finally understood what he was trying to draw his attention to. His clothes were in ruin, but that was the least of his concerns right now. 

While Noctis worked his tattered clothing off to have access to the wound, Ardyn allowed his mind to wander. That particular mark was made with purpose to remind him of the lances and blades driven into his back unable to see the faces of the men that had sought to place their king to death at the behest of his brother. Ifrit wanted his point known: he would take everything from Ardyn. Now he had something to lose. 

When Noctis had cleared away everything he could from Ardyn’s skin, he weighed his options. The way he used his magic usualy involved recklessly shattering bottles to douse oneself with the liquid—swallowing it would work too, but Ardyn could barely lift his head let alone speak or–

A moment later, he’d grabbed a pillow case and shaken it out, then balled it up to dump what little liquid he’d had, now a powerful healing agent, onto the cloth– which he then pressed to the wound. It was pushing out more tainted blood with each slow beat of his lover’s heart—and if he could at least slow the bleeding, it would buy him time. 

Trying to hide the way his hands shook, Noctis’ eyes darted around the room and he knew he had to make an impossible choice. 

“I don’t… have anything else. I’m going to have to go and. I’m going to find something, anything in a bottle intact. It’ll be okay. You just have to hold on.” 

The cloth pressed against him stung as the liquid potion seeped into his wound. Even with his diminished senses Ardyn could tell Noctis was distraught despite knowing the Accursed could not truly die. Still that concern was good for now as his lover fought to help him stay alive. Ifrit wanted him to die and spitefully the fallen king was choosing to not to. “Go.” 

It took every ounce of Noctis' resolve to press Ardyn’s less damaged hand to the cloth before getting up and darting into the darkness. 

Ardyn's hand clenched the bundled fabric to his broken flesh when prompted, trying to allow the potion to further encourage clotting, organs to knit, and skin to close. The Daemons rushing in black ash that rose from the injury to aid, but a wound inflicted by a divine weapon was harder for them to mend. Calling upon his own magic would do little good here when it would only drain him further and place a halt to the darkness’ work. 

Time moved to a crawl as Ardyn allowed his thoughts to stray. The bleeding was thankfully slowing and wisely he lay still as to not reopen it. He could not die. He could not sleep. Either would lure the Infernian to Noctis. Take his lover away from him… What he had done may have been the most foolish thing he had attempted in centuries. But his companion had to be protected. 

Mind and thoughts focused on the memory of the words from the Astral. He had seen the colors of love and passion burning in his soul. It was a lie... It had to be a lie. _He couldn’t… he **shouldn’t**_ …

The Quay was quiet save for the sound of waves meeting the shore, soothing—unchanging. Noctis’ boots carried him fast over the rotting planking and to the decrepit center area that had once been a well-to-do restaurant. He dug around, looking for anything that wasn’t shattered to no avail; and anything that had survived must have been looted ages before. Despair began to settle in as sweat collected on his brow. He was still not at his best, recovering from a bout of death after all—and he finally tore himself from it, resigning himself to the fact that he would have to run the length of the dock. 

Greeted by Daemonic voices, he grimaced and bolted, a sword drawn to swat anything that got close enough away. Nagas, damned annoying things—they were deadly if faced alone. 

Unbeknownst to Noctis, a familiar form shimmered into existence in the area he had just left, a terrible figure now—the normally beautiful human form that Ifrit inhabited shambled like a corpse in his tattered white robe and tunic, now stained black with the Scourge in his blood that called out to its brethren incubating in the chosen. Black gushed from his eyes and mouth, attempting to heal the grievous wounds inflicted—and he made sure that Ardyn would see him drift by the door to the room—after Noctis. 

Vulnerable, The Accursed lay alone thoughts muddled and sluggish, but he had to keep his mind occupied. Anything to starve off unconsciousness. The chattering of Daemons outside told him that they were well aware the great monster was ripe for them to try and devour. Even weakened as he was, Ardyn still posed a threat to them. Noctis could not be in much better condition: the full of the Chosen King’s power yet to return to him after dying. 

What if the Infernian was right? What if his words were more than just a taunt to see him come undone? Naught more than a trick… The implications too great and strange, but what if the allegations about _love_ were right? Some things could not be denied. Noctis was motivation enough to cut ties with his ‘master’ and stand to face him alone. But wasn’t it just to protect his interests and desires? 

Even in clouded thoughts of a brain racked with pain and indecision, he saw the ghostly apparition and felt the divine presence among them. Was he growing delirious? Surely he had dealt Ifrit grievous enough blows in turn that the god should retreat to his mountain to lick his wounds? 

“No…” No, he could not be here. Ardyn’s body was too broken to rise though try he did only to be rewarded with blinding agony that nearly sent his consciousness fleeing. He panted and huffed to catch his breath. “ _Noctis_...” His voice was too weak to carry.

Noctis made it to the souvenir stand at the end of the dock and leapt over the counter before tearing through what little was left there. He jammed his finger more than once, a nasty cut thanks to some broken glass—and tainted blood, now visibly darkened enough to nearly stop his heart at the sight of it, at the _fear_ gripping him, dripped from his trembling fingertips. 

Finally, as though by some divine providence, Noctis found three dusty bottles of water in-tact. He jammed them into a dusty plastic bag and twisted it around his left wrist before deflecting a lunge from one of the Daemons that had tracked him as he ducked under the counter. He launched himself back onto the walkway’s planks, heart racing as he fought the last of the Nagas off, trying just to get away. He didn’t care to fight them—he could jam something up against the door to the old hotel room and buy some time… couldn’t he? 

And that was when he smelled it: sulfur and death carried on the salted wind. 

Noctis’ blood ran cold as he turned his gaze upon the inhuman thing making its way slowly towards him, of course in the direction that he needed to go. The vaguely human form left a trail of pitch black behind—and he knew from the way his blood cried out, magnetized, what was happening. 

“ _ **Ifrit**_.” 

Noctis shook off an overgrown goblin that had latched onto his ankles and began to run full tilt at the object of his terror, despite the fact that he shook. 

He couldn’t be allowed to stay—Couldn’t be allowed to _be_ here when Ardyn was so badly wounded. As though the deity couldn’t even see him, he didn’t try to dodge—Noctis nearly felt sick when his father’s blade, aimed for the heart, sank to the hilt into the deity’s chest. The Daemons inside of him writhed and screamed, making his head spin.   
Ifrit’s thin, white arms came up and grabbed at his hair, clawed at his skin—and the touch ignited memories he wished had stayed buried. In a fit of rage, he drove against the deity until he forced them both stumbling and flailing over a partially broken guardrail. 

At the last moment, Noctis flung his sword and managed to warp up to the deck as the sea swallowed Uriah’s wounded form. 

Scrambling, he got to his feet and rushed back to the room. 

_**No no no**. Ardyn had not fought just for the Chosen to be taken now. He had to get up. He had to draw Ifrit’s attention away. A second valiant effort was about to be made when Noctis finally came through the door as if he had seen a ghost._ It stilled the fallen king’s efforts as amber eyes focused intently on his lover. 

Before he even stopped to look at Ardyn, Noctis dropped the bag from his hand and put his shoulder behind moving the old chest of drawers that had been against the wall in front of what was left of the door, then immediately grabbed his bounty and collapsed next to his lover on the bed to catch his breath. 

“You pissed him off, didn’t you? **He** did this, didn’t he?” It was more or less rhetorical—as he pulled out the first bottle and dusted it off to infuse it with healing power, then cracked it open. 

Noct's question only received the blink of his eyes in turn. His lover was clever when he wished to be. Little denial would be had as _only_ a god could inflict such damage upon him. The sickening feeling in his chest that had had nothing to do with his injuries finally started to abate. 

Noctis lifted the cloth, now soaked with black and red to dribble more of his power into the wound. It was ghastly, and surely went all the way through. He drew in a trembling breath and cupped Ardyn’s face. 

“Try to drink?” With all the gentleness his shaking hands could manage, he brought the mouth of the bottle to Ardyn’s lips—not minding when some of the healing liquid dripped from his lips and onto the burns on his neck. All the better. 

Some of the liquid found its way past his lips, but further was a harder task with his throat so enflamed and raw. The Accursed coughed and sputtered most of the precious potion spilling over and onto his neck instead of being swallowed. Experiences and training he sifted through until the solution of old came to him. He beckoned Noctis closer with a minute motion of his fingers upon the mostly undamaged left hand. 

His eyes had to be forced closed to fight down the dizziness settling in. A grave sign that he was losing too much blood. All the more important that Noctis heeded his instructions carefully and completely. “You… need to…drink and…” He paused hissing through clenched teeth at the sharp lances of pain in his chest. Tongue darted over his scabbed lip. Eyes trailed to his lover’s own mouth hoping he ascertained the meaning. 

Truly a disservice that the King of Kings was no longer taught first aid given the grave situations he was likely to face, but then again… Noctis was not an Oracle whom had to deal with healing on a daily basis.

Even as he tended to Ardyn, watching his expression shift as he fought and struggled to find words—the images of what had just occurred tore through his mind. In any normal state, Noctis would have hesitated. He’d have tried to parley with the rotting form of a furious deity rather than just throwing himself ahead and spearing him off of the edge of the pier. He’d come close to falling in after him too, and he just—there wasn’t time for that. 

Noctis winced when Ardyn spluttered, and he gently brushed his fingers over his face—anything to soothe him, if only for the moment. Tired grey-blue eyes were wide open as he tried to drink in whatever cues were given. It was disturbing to hear Ardyn’s voice barely above a whisper; it was something he kept himself in command of so intently. His voice was a weapon. Now, it was escaping him, as his life very might well be. 

“Drink and…?” What good would him drinking the potion do? He followed Ardyn’s eyes, the dullness in his amber irises wrenching Noctis’ heart. 

It took him several more moments to realize that he meant for him to use his mouth to pass the liquid over—and he continued to fear that the light would do more harm than good. No; he’d put all the intent he could into it. His light and Ardyn’s light—what was left of it—would converge and combine. He’d call out to it with his very soul if he could, to find healing. 

Noctis took in several gulps of air as he leaned down and gently slipped his arm beneath his lover’s head, fingertips briefly brushing lips as he lifted his shoulders as carefully as he could to make swallowing easier—and sipped the tepid water, holding it in his mouth before he pressed their lips together and carefully let it pass between them. 

He wasn’t exactly skilled at such a thing—it was a bit messy, though he hoped the slower, more gentle transfer would allow Ardyn to swallow more, or at least let it trickle down his throat enough to heal it. 

_Let his light meet mine; let this be enough._

Although he knew Ardyn was immortal and would return, the fury of a deity was not far away now, and he could hear the scratching of Daemons just beyond the wall. They wanted to feed, and they would not be safe for long. They couldn’t afford another long “sleep” in the beyond. Not now.

Teeth gritted and a moan escaped him because as carefully as Noctis tried to maneuver him it pulled at the wound in his chest. Luckily and by some blessing alone it did not reopen what little had started to mend on the inside to seal it from the potion that seeped inside; beckoning his mortal form to heal. 

His lips parted readily and was met with the stale water that tasted odd and _particular_. Liquid light finally able to ease down his throat. He nearly choked on it again, but focusing on Noctis… the feel of him, his warmth, and his being so close took Ardyn’s mind off the task enough to not cough and sputter as he did before. The potion did its job easing the collapsed walls of his throat from where a petty god had tried to suffocate him to death. 

Magic held within it called out to the light tempered by the darkness urging it to surge forth and aid the Scourge. The tingling sensation that spread from his core that was not entirely unpleasant. As his lover helped him to drink more, the grievous wound that would have claimed his life was closing. The bleeding slowed as the burns and scabs that black red blood escaped from closed. 

With a bit of renewed strength Ardyn brought his uninjured hand to rest on the back of Noctis’ head holding the king in place before he could withdraw. Noctis was here with him. His mind had to be reminded of the fact after the unsettling "hallucination" of Uriah. 

Fingers weaved through raven locks as some strength returned and he held his lover there against him reassuring his clouded and hazy mind of his presence. In the entirety Ardyn had not failed in his encounter. His companion was safe, secure, and more importantly here. His hold in Noctis’ hair tightened, but not enough to be considered painful. Something like a vice dreadful and weighted gripped upon the Accursed’s heart as it fluttered. -- A strange sensation that he did not wholly dislike. 

Finally, he released his companion after pressing a lazy kiss to the corner of his lips. His color had yet to return, but the wound was no longer bleeding. For now he would live. 

“The wound needs to be bound as does my arm.” His eyes strayed to the door where he knew the daemons were waiting to pounce. “Regretfully, it will be some time yet before I can walk.” His throat healed enough for his voice to return still raspy, but louder than before.

Unfortunately, supplies were in short supply. The dusty old comforters and sheets would have to do until they could make their way to somewhere with better sundries. Hammerhead was probably the place best outfitted to handle something like this—but that wasn't really a social risk that Noctis was willing to take. He was still quite knowingly running from any contact with his retainers and friends—and he of course had no idea that dearest Prompto had drawn dangerously close to Ardyn's showdown with the Astral on the plains of Leide. He tried not to think of them; tried to tear out the part of his heart that longed for and cried out for them. 

He had accepted his inevitable end, and would it not just be cruel to go to them? To let them know he lived only to know that in order to end it all—and Ardyn—he too, would have to die... Or did they know? Had they known all along like Ardyn had suggested? It was too much to think about. 

Instead, he focused on what was before him. Even in the heated moment; the worry, the distress at the obvious pain that his near constant companion was suffering through—Noctis couldn't deny the strangling warmth that blossomed in his chest when he felt Ardyn holding him close, turning the action into something more like a kiss despite the awful state that he was in. 

Noctis' expression softened greatly, and he finally allowed himself a few moments to breathe. Ardyn gave him strength. He was still fighting, even now; even though he could have given up. As he considered Ardyn's instructions, he went about applying the potion to any other wounds that he had missed or passed up for the more severe ones before—little sparks of light glinting as the magic-infused liquid set to work. 

"Okay. I'm gonna. Work on that--" He glanced nervously through the dingy glass that lined one wall; a wonder it hadn't been broken over the years—and then back to Ardyn. 

He hadn't wanted to upset or concern him more than necessary but; he should probably know. 

"Ardyn. Why was he here? That... was Ifrit, wasn't it? The... the plague inside of me. I could feel it. And I remember... him. But—I. I fought him off. He fell from the peer." Though, it was likely that that was only going to buy time. It had only been his human vessel, after all; he could retreat or shift to the much more terrifying god form at will, unless it too was too injured to be sustained. That might be the only thing keeping his wrath from boiling the sea and tearing at the foundations of the pier the room they were in rested upon now. Not a pleasant thought. 

As he spoke, Noctis started tearing strips from the top sheet. It had been under the comforter for ages, so it was more or less clean—at least enough for their current purposes. He'd clean it all up and replace the bandages once they could stop for supplies. 

The agony of his wounds and their cause were past the point that he would derive pleasure from them. Better Ardyn allow his mind to wander as a way to keep himself from crying or do much more than flinching or hissing as his lover worked. Temptation had lingered on the edge of his mind. It would be easy to allow himself to expire. Death was kinder in many regards as the Daemons would work to reform the coil of their vessel and master. 

Death carried uncertainty; render the Accursed insensate to the outside world. Most importantly, it gave Ifrit an opening to seize Noctis and do as he will to the Chosen. His lover was clever in many ways, but his bleeding heart would be his downfall should the Infernian manage to take him under his wing and mold him into something different. 

His breath hissed when Noctis poured the potion over the burns that caused the most agony, but the Chosen was speaking once more bringing Ardyn’s distant mind back to the present. The desperation from before and the anger started to return. Ifrit’s specter was no mere hallucination then. The god had sought his companion out while he lay in bed unable to provide aid. Left hand clenched into a fist over the cloth he still held to his chest wound. 

Mention of the plague still inside Noctis that threatened their very plan still did not abate the anger in the immortal. His pain was momentarily forgotten and replaced by fury. 

“Why else would he be here, Noct? To finish what he started.” Tone and voice growling as much as he could in his state. Stubbornly, he rose-- ignoring the fresh agony of his chest screaming at his body to remain laying still. It was still too tender and could reopen were he not careful. 

Amber eyes searched out the window as though he could see Ifrit through the waters taunting and mocking him. Face drawn into a sneer as though he wished to run from this very room and finish the deity off himself.   
“He will… not be long… for this world. I would tear him asunder until not… even his brother… could recognize him.” Sweat perspired from his forehead, and his breathing returned to the labored stuccato of before.

"Ifrit did this to you, after all that time you were in a Covenant with him." Noctis could put two and two together easily enough, and he began to understand the extent of the danger they were in. 

His hands hovered over Ardyn as he struggled to get up, ever careful not to re-open that wound. The back was still bleeding though not as bad as it had been. His mind was a mess, trying to remember anything he'd been taught about the Infernian but despite all of the Cosmogony's posturing about how he was the Betrayer and the Scourge-bringer, there was little else preserved. Noctis was even ignorant of Ifrit's true nature as a deity of passion and fertility; of love even, according to some long-lost ancient accounts. 

Noctis took a deep breath trying to steel himself, and that moment of calm turned to dread as he looked out of the window once more at what at first appeared to be an unnaturally thick fog rising from the cove. It took him only a few moments to recognize it as steam. Ifrit was still there, and he was not happy—though it was anyone's guess how long it might take him to have to recover while both sunk in the element that served as his weakness and throwing a massive temper tantrum that was surely costing him valuable strength. Without Leviathan to lord over her realm, there was little to stop him from boiling the ocean if his hot-headed rage so pleased. 

Shifting a bit, Noctis leaned to get a better look at Ardyn's back in the dim light. Without explaining himself, he took what was left in the water-bottle-turned-potion and poured it down his back—over what he assumed were burns as well as the exit wound. 

The wound itself showed signs of stitching itself back together, but the marks he had assumed were burns did not. He realized then that they were scars; likely very old—and though he didn't have much time to linger on the discovery, Noctis' fingertips brushed over one of the longer ones gently. It was a quiet moment in a situation that was threatening to devolve into utter chaos at any moment. The door shuddered as something slammed against it, setting Noctis' teeth on edge. 

He took a deep breath. 

"I'll fight them off. I'll protect you, I swear it." 

Ardyn was too fixated upon the signs of Ifrit in the water to protest the potion poured over his back. Vaguely, he wondered why Noctis thought it necessary to give him an impromptu shower. There raised marks crisscrossed in random patterns across his back were all nearly as old as he. The last acts committed before he was mortal no more. It was why they lingered instead of repairing into unblemished skin by the Daemons. His execution ordered at his brother’s hands branded into his flesh. --A stark reminder of the agony and pain he suffered. All had been too cowardly to face their king as they slew him. 

Blades, lances, whips, and spears given to him in a death unbefitting a noble. That was the last of the pains his brother gave him. Izunia could not even be bothered to give him a noble’s death of a quick decapitation. Ardyn had been made to suffer before ‘death’ had risen to claim him with wrists strung above his head and upper body completely exposed. 

Involuntarily, Ardyn drew in a breath as his goosebumps rose under Noctis’ touch. That particular scar was sensitive to touch and always illicited a pleasant reaction from him. Ardyn’s attention turned from the steam rising from the waters to his lover. 

“Charming you believe yourself…. capable of fending… all of them off.” He raged at the idea of needing protection. He was not the one in grave danger here— that prestige belonged to Noctis. He was the one Ifrit truly wanted. Ardyn was merely a pawn standing in his way albeit a very strong one whom had rendered a grievous blow to the deity.   
“You will _not_.” He mustered his strength behind the command refusing to allow Noctis argument in this.

They were both weakened and unable to mount a serious offensive against both Ifrit and the Daemons that awaited just beyond the door to the room. 

His leg would still not bear weight. Noctis would be incapable of fending off the Daemons while helping him to the car. It left Ardyn little option than to put either of them at risk of discovery by Bahamut. A brief distance he reasoned with himself any more and he doubted that the Draconian would remain unaware of their presence in the realm only the gods knew. “Bind… the wound.. gather our things… I will place us at the car.” 

When it appeared as if Noctis would protest Ardyn’s expression hardened. “Do not… argue.” From the aether he reluctantly pull his keys into existence, handing them to Noctis. He loathed the idea of another driving his vehicle, but he just was not capable.

Noctis wondered if Ardyn forgot that he too, was a bit stronger than the average person—but he was beginning to understand that it was largely the man's fondness that was blinding him to such things. Ardyn protected him with a fierceness that could be mistaken for annoyance; but Noctis was more than aware of it, now. 

He rose to collect their bag of supplies (not much left now,) and settled in to wind his makeshift bandages around Ardyn's wounds. It took him several moments, and the humidity in the air was starting to get genuinely oppressive, causing even Noctis' pin straight hair to hang limp and curl at the ends. 

As Noctis moved onto the other wound, the entire structure shuddered and lurched. Something had stricken the pillars that served as the Quay's foundation—and it was likely a furious fire god armed with a scimitar and inhuman strength. 

He sucked in a breath, ignoring Ardyn's bitterness. He'd get them out of this. He'd driven in worse circumstances, and on dry land they'd be much safer at least for the moment. Ifrit would likely be forced to retreat to Ravataogh at least long enough to heal the wounds that Ardyn had inflicted upon him if they could just manage to get away.

Once more, he checked Ardyn over—making certain that he had done all he could—and stroked his hair from his face as he sucked in a gulp of air. He wasn't scared: he refused to be—though his heart raced, the horrific images of the broken thing that had tried to tear at him with its bare hands still seared into his mind. Ifrit was frightening to him in a way that Leviathan could no longer have wished to manage. 

He gave a small, stiff nod. He didn't know how Ardyn meant to simply move them, but he would trust him. 

"Okay. Okay. Just don't over exert yourself." He said sharply. 

Time was drawing short. Ifrit was not content to wait for Noctis to be able to move Ardyn. The Accursed was well aware of what the deity’s plans were. Force him to urge Noctis on without him. The structure would fall and he would die. The Chosen would then be left alone without protection from the Infernian or a way to detect his presence. 

Ominous creaking as the structure was beaten upon more from the seabed. This had to work or likely both of them would perish because Ardyn doubted Noctis would leave him even now; the stubborn fool. 

“Hold onto the bag… tightly.” He pulled his lover close with the arm mostly undamaged from the previous battle. “Do not try to escape my hold…. understand? Stay still.” He had yet to try this in all of his time spent delving into the magic he was left with for millennia. In theory nothing should bar him from performing such a feat.

Eyelids fell as curtains to allow him the concentration necessary to overcome the agony of his body and the solid form of his lover to pull with him. He searched for those cracks so minute in the fabric of this plane. Magic and will latched on pulling and tearing until the pair of them were allowed through. A world lacking a sense of up or down. The bring multicolored lights that went on and on for eternity. It was the Astral plane, the realm of Bahamut. 

They could not linger here. The Draconian would know. The act made harder for he had a passenger to ensure came forth with him in one piece. Finally for what took much longer than normal he found the other seam he needed. 

Just as inelegant as the last. Ardyn landed hard in the backseat of his car with Noctis clinging to him. He bit down upon his lips to keep from crying out in pain. No good would it do them say for attracting the daemons to them more quickly. Drain. Exhausted. Labored breaths. “ _Drive_.” He urged releasing his hold and collapsing against the seat to regain strength.


	15. Long Live the King, The King is Dead.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ifrit continues his desperate attacks against Ardyn, attempting to weaken him as his own powers are sorely depleted. What the Infernian's flames bring to light might be something else entirely. 
> 
> ( Warning in this chapter for mention of non-con/rape and somewhat graphic gore/dismemberment. )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I cried like a baby over this chapter. That's all I have to say.

As the world shifted and spun, Noctis never once let up on his near vice-grip on Ardyn's body. He held him tightly, as though he feared he might fall to pieces if he didn't. The space was familiar when they entered it, so much so that he was hit with waves of memories; clouded and distant—ten years spent without any contact but that of Bahamut. Emptiness stretching onward and onward as his body was bathed in the light of the crystal: long periods spent in feverish sleep while the crystal's light drained into the ring upon his finger. 

When he opened his eyes again, it was with hot sea-breeze upon his brow, and still damp if not less oppressive air drawn into his lungs. Ardyn's simple, one-word order rang in his ears -- _Drive_ \--and he paused only to look him over one more time before vaulting into the front seat. His hand had closed so tightly upon the keys placed in his hand that the ridges had bit into his hand and scraped the skin, but he ignored it—just as he ignored the cut on his hand from rummaging in the darkness for anything that he could use to charge with his healing power. 

Noctis put the key in and turned it, relieved when the engine turned over and came to life, and backed out with as much grace as he could. He was greeted with the sound of splintering wood and half of the Quay suddenly drooping and beginning to sink into the ocean. A single, massive hand reached up and dug clawed fingertips into the wood as he backed up and sped onto the crumbling road. He nearly missed the first tight turn, and refused to look behind them as he was sure the sight would be enough to shake his heart and his courage. 

White knuckled on the steering wheel, his hands remained even as they cleared the tunnel that he had steered into rather than heading North and risking more narrow turns at such a speed. 

Twice, he had to dodge cars parked along the road where hunters were gathered taking stock of what was happening. This time though, he aimed for the path that would take them south of Duscae. 

"W-Where are we going? I'm not even sure where you want to take us--" He started, voice raised to be heard over the rushing wind. 

They hadn't planned much beyond Leviathan—and they both needed rest, though Noctis refused to show the effects of the Plague further weakening him. 

Barely did he pay heed to the speed at which Noctis took the turns. All that mattered was placing distance between them and the god whose fury knew no bounds. It would not take Ifrit long to realize the two of them had escaped. Too aware had they lingered a few seconds longer the Infernian would have dragged him under to finish what he started in the plains of Leide.

Eyes closed for a moment as Ardyn sought to catch his breath in labored pants. His car was not the smoothest of rides especially as he was jostled around at Noctis' not so elegant driving skills. It was only adding to his agony, but he could not rest for as soon as he did he knew Ifrit would descend upon them again. He was the only one of them that could sense the petty man-child of a god before it was too late. 

Senses reached out over the covenant. Careful he had to be lest Ifrit decided to take more notice of them. No longer was he nearby. The wounds Ardyn had inflicted should be taking a toll for a time. However, Ardyn knew that rage could motivate you past any point of pain, more so than any other would understand. 

Forcing himself up from being pressed against the backseat he leaned forward to speak into his lover’s ear. “Old Lestallum. From there we will proceed to Ravatogh, but you still stop there, understood?” His tone was on edge as he was so clearly upset and raging on the inside. So rarely did he hesitate, but here he did now. Any closer would take them _too_ close. They needed to be at full strength to dethrone their prey from atop his lofty mountain. 

The Infernian would stop at nothing to take the Chosen away from him, and now he knew of the Accursed’s true intentions. The god of fire and passion would not be spared in their conquest and shared dark intentions. Fingers reached up to run through raven hair perhaps too harshly, but it only belayed the mood overcoming him. “And when he lies dead… I will undo _all_ that the miserable wretch has done.’

“Old Lestallum.” Noctis echoed, a small nod from tense shoulders. 

And then on to Ravatogh. The showdown against Ifrit would not be stopped. It wasn’t as thought he wanted it to be– only that the thought of facing it was too much for the moment. For now, there was only the road in front of them and hope that nothing was blocking their path. 

“Hang in there…” It was mostly to himself, muttered under his breath as Ardyn promised vengeance against his ear. 

“I’m fine. I’ll… be fine. I won’t let anything stop me.” He talked as though he could honestly hope to halt the progression of the Plague by strength of will alone. Noctis seemed sure enough that that was in fact the case. He couldn’t accept the very real likelihood that the Starscourge could consume what light was left in him and make him into whatever it was that Ardyn was now—unable to die, unable to destroy the gods. But now—the numbers were at least more even. 

If he fell now, would it birth a new Cosmogony? A tale of two cursed Kings who railed against the gods in the darkness of the void for eternity? 

Noctis didn’t let up on the gas until he was certain he couldn’t feel the creeping sense of something coming for them. He could not sense Ifrit in the same way that Ardyn could—but it was only with Galdin Quay long in the distance that he felt any sense of relaxation. He would drive through the night and through the haze of his illness if he must. 

A labored sigh, and his knuckles were still white on the steering wheel. “Is the… laughing and taunting normal?” 

Of course, he meant the Daemons that scrabbled at the inside of his head, multiplying by the hour. Part of him hoped they could hide out and get proper rest at least for a while—but his body might not make it. He knew that the Scourge was dangerously close to overpowering the light, elsewise it would not have risen up so much in the fight against Leviathan. They had to go forward, and there was little other choice. 

Ire turned to concern despite Noctis’ reassurances. Ardyn knew better than all left alive of the effects of the Starscourge and the price it wrought upon the mind, body, and soul. That Noctis brushed it off all so easily was but a mark of how the man operated under stress, but also vexed Ardyn. The matter was not to be taken lightly or with such brevity, and sadly it progressed more quickly in his lover than most. All likely a machination of Ifrit’s. He was no doubt eager to claim what he thought was his as well as what was now an attempt to save his own pitiful life. 

“No. The Scourge does not speak in words intelligible. It should not. Say for the two beings left in this world that might understand the growls and snarls for the emotions behind them.” His voice a low and dangerous thing almost ready to snap and turn against something in violence despite weakened condition. 

Fully unable to keep still in the rage shimmering and surging underneath a barely contained facade fingers traced down in deep, almost painful in their force along the nape of the Chosen’s neck. It all meant one thing and one very detrimental thing alone to their plans: Noctis was succumbing. The fight with the giant sea serpent had done little but ignite the rage of the daemonic souls; gave them a stronger foothold into the light. Noctis’ death had aided in this regard. 

A frustrated growl tore from Ardyn’s lips as he forced himself to movement searching within the confines of their bag until he found one of the water bottles still untainted and filled with stagnant liquid. He brought forth the light that held at bay the insanity and darkness that wished to devour him whole. His had long ago settled into an uneasy equilibrium. Soon… so would Noctis’. 

The remedy was placed within Noctis’ lap with little ceremony. “You will drink.” A chin with days’ old stubble settled upon a lithe shoulder speaking into a slender neck. Eyes cast in a wicked almost demonic expression in his growing ire and irritation. “The Infernian’s head will be severed from his shoulders. And in that moment _I can save you_.” 

Noctis frowned at Ardyn's response and made to amend his question if only slightly, but stopped when he felt him shift away, unwilling to take his eyes off of the darkness of the road. It wouldn't do to careen into a broken bridge or even a Daemon that might be occupying the out of service asphalt before them. He was not expecting the water bottle that presented itself—though he knew what it was for. 

An image was becoming clear. Noctis could not be allowed to fight in this upcoming struggle. To do so meant risking the Daemons overtaking before the end. He could only be allowed to use the light of the Crystal to end Ifrit, but the weakening of him would fall to the Accursed alone. 

Noctis felt confident then, to slow to a speed that was much more... sane in comparison to what he had been maintaining for some time, and he knew their trusty steed would appreciate it. They were burning gas much faster than necessary, and it was a crap shoot as to whether or not fuel would be available at their next stop—a question remaining hanging in the air as to whether or not Old Lestallum had any upkeep whatsoever—though it was along the road to Meldacio HQ. Even that, Noctis realized, told him little as it seemed all of humanity had drawn inward to Lestallum proper. 

There had better be supplies to be had at the foot of Ravatogh, or he'd be more than a little frustrated for Ardyn using one of their last vessels so suddenly. 

"That was for you, y'know--" He grumbled, but he did as he was told and drank one handed. It quieted his mind at least a bit, and helped him feel a bit more alert, though the King was yawning an awful lot. 

Noctis felt only relief when Ardyn pressed his chin to his shoulder. It was soothing, the weight—knowing that he was there, and that he was healing with that unnaturally quick ability of his. They would be alright—surely Ifrit couldn't track them now, even if he stayed in the deep waters of the coast which certainly did not serve him well. 

He tried not to think too much about passing Cape Caem, the lighthouse dark and in disrepair as they drove. It simply couldn't be helped—such things were ancient history. 

"I know. But you don't have to make it about vengeance." Don't make it about me—he thought. Noctis was a little afraid of it; frightened of the suggestion that Ardyn might in fact want to bring this sort of vengeance upon their aggressor simply because of what he'd done to him. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready to accept that part of Ardyn yet. It was easier to think of them as allies—but he knew better now, knew that Ardyn fought to protect him, no matter how strange that was for him to think about. Surely it was just to protect his hope of meeting a swift end, right? Noctis wasn't so sure. 

The dream he'd had while asleep at the Quay returned to him, warm and vibrant and full of hope—Ardyn and his friends together, tentative laughter. Learning. Compassion. Forgiveness. Hope that he couldn't afford to entertain. 

“Not long now…” He muttered, absently turning his head to nuzzle against Ardyn’s cheek. 

Many would find the silence that stretched between the two of them awkward at best. Ardyn, however, knew how to read between the lines. Noctis was never one to directly confront notions that brought out strong feelings in him. The Accursed was learning that all too well. Noctis was not upset over this being over vengeance. No, his trepidation stemmed from the vengeance being over what had been done to him. 

No matter how much the Chosen would protest and wish differently it would remain thus: Ardyn had confronted a petty god because of what had been rendered onto his Chosen. He was more than willing after his injuries healed to try again. A petty god’s attempts to steal away his absolution, his end, and his lover. The boy was a weakness now however reluctant Ardyn was to admit. Ifrit would exploit it in any way he could if only because hope for his death remained alive so long as Noctis was. 

It was true that Noctis didn’t want to deal with the repercussions of all of that. Above all else, he didn’t want to entertain thoughts that would end up breaking his heart in the end. The thought that Ardyn might love him was tantalizing—made him face his own feelings rather definitely though he thought them irrelevant. But he also knew that he was going to end up hurt if he wasn’t very careful. Irrelevant he told himself; because there was no next time—no chance for all of those keen emotions of his to find a home before they went to their end. Noctis held little hope of anything otherwise. 

But all would matter naught if the True King could not be cured of the plague affliction in time. Light soiled and corrupted. There were no more crystals. No more light to shed into another, and not enough of the Astrals left to muster another prophecy in time to save what little was left of the world. The damned Infernian was so close to ruining everything the fallen king had striven and schemed for. 

The car’s engine ceased running and the movement of air in wine hair was no more. Ardyn came back from his thoughts still not allowing himself rest. Hand rested over the healing chest wound. The burns were just starting to show signs of fading. His shattered leg he could feel the tightness that accompanied mending bones. Still despite his pride and stubbornness he accepted his companion’s help. “If only we would be so lucky that the generator or power was found to be still functional.” 

Careful movements not to tear too delicate flesh. Feet brought to the ground, but too soon. His injured leg would not bear his weight. A hiss of pain escaped through gritted teeth as he unceremoniously leaned heavily against Noctis to prevent an even more ungraceful fall. 

Arms came around Ardyn’s waist, and though he was much larger than Noctis in frame, the king gave him his entire body to serve as a support. That leg was still a mess, and he’d rather not think about it– 

“I’ve got you,” Inane babble spoken to the air as he brought them closer to the dilapidated structure. If Noctis had his way, they would stay until Ardyn’s wounds were healed fully at the very least, but he seemed quite determined to keep them moving. 

Ifrit was… a terror. The black-shrouded thing he tried to avoid in his dreams. He knew that now; knew that he wanted him in the foulest of ways. It was scary in its own right if only to know that he now meant to make their mission fail; that he would keep Ardyn bound in this awful eternity for all of time if he could manage it. Noctis could not allow that. 

“Ardyn. We’re going to take Ifrit out regardless of… why. It’s only a matter of time now. You’ll get your revenge.” He promised gently as he steered them through the darkness. 

Little conversation passed between them as the pair slowly, methodically made their way through the outpost being reclaimed steadily by the elements and rotting to time. Signs that hunters came through peppered the area, but nobody had lived here for an extended period for a long, long time, even with it so close to the large power lines that dotted the landscape of Duscae. 

It pained him to walk so, but pride dictated that he not be carried around like some maiden unless it was under more dramatic circumstances. So long had he lived that compartmentalizing the agony was a task he could do if mind was set to it. Until his leg healed a fight against the Infernian was just a feeble dream. His speed was necessary, but now he knew strategies; ways to break the deity apart bit by tiny bit. 

Noctis fumbled with the doorknob for a moment, finding that the rotting wood was surprisingly sturdy. Luckily, it seemed whoever had abandoned the office had left it unlocked. Inside, he swiped a handful of keys and sorted through them until he found the one for the closest room and redirected their slow traversal towards it. 

He was quiet as he made his way towards the door and then unlocked it before helping Ardyn over to the first of two dusty beds. Funny he thought, that at the beginning of this journey they’d struggled with the idea of who would sleep where. Now, he knew exactly how they would sleep without having to think about it. That is… if Ardyn was willing to let himself rest for even a moment. 

Ardyn hummed in agreement at the thought of his revenge soon at hand. He grunted only when weight accidentally fell on his damaged leg or injuries pulled too much to ignore. Almost grateful when Noctis finally helped him to a bed to ease himself off his feet. Vaguely he worried about his ruined clothing. Perhaps he may more in the bags they left in the car before Altissa or even in the cavernous black hole of his Armiger space. It could all wait until later as he made himself comfortable on dusty, old sheets. 

“I’ll go check on the generator in a minute. You need to rest.” Noctis said as he made his way around the room, busying himself with checking for any usable supplies rather than letting his companion bring feelings back into the conversation.

Breath came heavily through nostrils as he recovered from their short walk through their temporary dwelling. He allowed Noctis to steer them away from a conversation the Chosen was adamantly trying to avoid. Barest shake of his head at the suggestion though his lover was unable to see due to the exploration of their room. “I do not need rest. I will heal regardless, Noct.” 

Though it were true, the Daemons were faster at their task if he allowed himself the luxury of sleep. Not a luxury he could afford. Ifrit would know the moment he slipped into the world of dreaming. The Accursed knew the fire god would seek out Noctis then. His lover would be without a warning or a way to detect him so easily. Just the thought of what the god had done already and wished to continue work with made his blood boil. All enough to keep him from closing his eyes.

Noctis lifted his head as he rummaged through some dusty papers—news articles from nearly a decade prior that he made a point not to read more than a few lines of. It would’ve been a painful experience that he didn’t want, not now. 

He was starting to find it easier and easier to get into Ardyn’s head, but it was hard as ever to admit to himself what was going through it. He’d protect him no matter what, even if it meant putting himself through hell. Though really, it was through no real fondness of his own; just a matter of fact. He needed Noctis alive and well and untainted regardless of the ending he would aim for. 

After a few moments of making himself busy, Noctis returned to the bedside, heavy and tired. They probably should have eaten something but—did they even have to? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a meal. Vaguely, he was hungry but it seemed as though it no longer affected him in the same way. Such was the way of learning one’s immortality, he supposed. Noctis decided not to worry about it for the moment as he crawled up next to Ardyn and let his hands roam whatever un-injured skin he could find in an attempt to soothe the beast that was his lover. 

“We need to rest. It’s not like he can just find us, right?” Though Gentiana had always been able to—and that made him uncomfortable almost instantly. 

“Damn. He can, can’t he?” Noctis stroked his auburn hair back from his face. They were both filthy, the sweat and soot of battle clinging to them. But for now—he just wanted to bring him some kind of rest. Some kind of focus. 

Noctis already knew that he’d stay there with Ardyn no matter what and eventually he’d have to find a way to convince him to sleep. He fell silent as he rested his chin lightly against his shoulder, biding his time. Maybe… magic? Could he make a potion like that? He might have to try. 

Leave it to ever clever Noct to finally realize the trouble they were in. Just the thought of the Infernian triggered Ardyn to rage and seething now to know… to even think of what horror he inflicted upon his lover. Had he been able in body, the fallen king would have reclaimed and taken pleasures in the Chosen if only to erase the wretched marks left behind. Replace them with memories of his own touch and desires. Instead all he could settle for was wrapping his uninjured arm about Noctis digging fingers into his side. 

“Hmm. Finally, he figures it out. Maybe the king is not so hapless after all.” His tone a near growl even to his own ears. He would not sleep no matter how much the Noctis begged and pleaded. Call it paranoia and Ardyn would counter with caution.  
“Should you not find more bottles of drinkable liquid? That remedy I gave you will not last long,” He would make himself more concerned about Noctis’ state of progression than his own invalidity at the moment. 

Soon he allowed himself to lapse into silence. Senses opened to the world around them searching for any sign of Ifrit. His body healing oh so slowly under the strain. Better than allowing a god a chance to snatch Noctis away. However, the Infernian made his presence known soon enough. It started slow-- a pulsing, throb in his head steadily escalating into agony inside his mind. An agony he could not distance himself from because it was his own wretched mind. 

The scream and screeches. The pulsating pain. Ifrit was attempting to summon him via the covenant. Draw him away. At first he could hide the signs outwardly just allowing himself a small pinched expression that could easily be mistaken for the express agony of his wounds. 

He refused to heed the call. He would not leave Noctis’ side no matter the cost inflicted upon him; the bond that coupled servant to god. 

It took some great will power to lift himself up from the bed and go off to do as he’d said he would. Noctis knew there was a good deal of things that he would need to do—things to take care of and keep his mind and hands busy despite the weight of his lungs. Not a good sign, especially not paired with the light wheezing. He knew in the back of his mind that he didn’t have much time now; that he had only had a mild case of the plague as a child and it had nearly destroyed his nervous system. His left knee still didn’t always work right—but those were all thoughts for another time. 

He placed a kiss on Ardyn’s cheek before he disentangled himself, trying to be careful—knowing that he was still in a great deal of pain. 

The King of Kings went around the back and shuffled through debris before having to move what was left in one of the two fuel pumps out front over to get the generator working. It took him longer than he might have liked, but with some puffing and whirring, the machine managed to kick on and the decrepit structure was lit—a couple of lights in the office had been left on, along with the neon signage. Noctis proceeded to look for the switches for them and unplugged anything he could find in order to stop any excess pull on the electricity though he realized that with a little ingenuity he could probably fuel the generator with just water and his power. That would have to be tested later. 

With that done and the climate control turned on in hopes that it was still functioning for the sake of a little added comfort in the damnable humidity, he returned to the room with an arm load of assorted water and soda bottles he’d found still in the refrigerator unit in the office. There was probably more to be had at the abandoned diner, but this would do for now. Surprisingly, some of it hadn’t even reached its expiration date yet—and Noctis had to stop and wonder how long society had managed to function after his disappearance before it had fallen apart entirely. 

Only when his companion had gone to check on the generator did those small signs give way to something more pointed to his current torment. The sound of a door opening and closing. His eyes closed as if they could block out the sound too loud in his head. It aggravated and angered the throbbing. Hand brought up to brush at his hair to distract himself. Jaw tensed as teeth were clenched. 

“ _Stop moving around._ ” It was a command stern and angered as he lashed out in his pain.

Noctis turned one of several bottles of pre-brewed tea over in his palm as he dumped the most of them from his armload on the low chest of drawers near the entrance and raised his brow at the rather harsh hiss aimed in his direction. Ardyn was obviously suffering—but shouldn’t he be doing better at this point? 

Noctis wished desperately that he would let himself rest; poured that hope into the bottle in his hand as he charged another potion—and crawled up next to him again. 

“Yeah, yeah. We’re good now. I found some tea. It’s actually probably still good, too.” He opened the bottle and offered it to him. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

Wounds may be healing and in better condition, but the Infernian found new, oh so exciting ways to make the Accursed miserable. The longer he resisted the worse it would become until all he could think about was the stabbing pain. Ardyn fought through it for he was certain to a fault that Ifrit would use this in his arsenal against him. 

He heard the wheezing however light from his lover. Concern and worry once more the prominent thoughts in his mind. The final signs before the Scourge attacked and invaded the nervous system. The final stage Ardyn recalled before he allowed that madness to take him over. “You need another tonic.” His hand gestured back towards the abandoned bottles upon the chest of drawers. A motion meant to say Noctis should fetch another for him. 

The offered tea was taken, but Ardyn did not drink from it until Noctis returned with another untainted drink. One Ardyn infused more of his magic into to slow the progress of the pathogen within his lover. Settling back into the pillows with the Chosen pulled to his side, he sipped at the beverage until he grew tired of it. The rest discarded to the bedside table for later consumption. The lances of pain in his skull only becoming worse. Eyes clenched as another particularly agonizing one hit. 

Then without warning the world tilted and lurched to one side in a movement that was only in his mind; almost made him sick to his stomach. Unable to tell if it was the calling punishing him more severely or something else. His body overcome with a sudden urge to sleep despite it not being a necessary part of immortality. Eyelids blinked heavily and slowly. A shake of his head to starve off that encroaching urge. His eyes burned. A fervent wish of theirs now to close and be allowed rest. 

Sensations of fingers he felt through his wine colored hair. Noctis was trying to lure him to give in through the touches. Still he struggled to keep his eyes open. Sluggish thoughts conjured the first explanation: he had been drugged. Whatever magic Noctis poured into that tea was not just for aiding in healing. It was a magical narcotic. In a sense he felt betrayed; tricked as such-- despite all the good intentions in the world. 

Noctis lay curled on his side, watching Ardyn with curious eyes. He hadn’t really meant to do anything drastic—but he supposed it was impossible to keep his desire for Ardyn to get some rest out of his magical intent. He continued his gentle ministrations, fingertips brushing over scalp as he watched Ardyn struggle to fight sleep. He told himself that honestly—he didn’t really do anything, it was just that his body would’ve forced him to sleep eventually anyway, right? 

“What have you done to me...?” He growled out lowly and softly, words almost slurring together. Ardyn's hands pushed at Noctis trying to get him away, but it was a rather futile endeavor. His body pulled down further and further until his breath evened out, and the Immortal Accursed finally rested.

But that accusation—Noctis apologized under his breath and pressed a kiss to the side of Ardyn’s hair. 

“I don’t know. I... Please just try to rest. I’ll be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” But he wasn’t so sure.

All the same, they were tucked away in a corner of the world far enough away that Noctis felt at least some measure of security and they were in fact, very low on supplies. He gathered a few things and slung the smaller messenger bag over his shoulder—but stopped, distracted by his appearance in the mirror. He looked haggard; thin as ever. That had perhaps been the most shocking thing to him upon emerging from the crystal—that his body was near emaciated. It had been his first clue that he was no longer quite human, as anyone who looked like that would’ve been sickly rather than at their most powerful. Sustained purely by the crystal’s light. Now, that gauntness was accentuated by the blackening of his skin at least—the edges of his eyes, the tint of his lips. If he had looked at himself as someone else he’d have thought: They haven’t got long, now. 

With that in mind, he took the magically charged tonic Ardyn had made for him and began to drink as he set off to plunder the abandoned Crow’s Nest in search of actual sustenance. 

He should have known that Ifrit was watching; could watch all he liked thanks to the covenant he still held the reigns to—but Noctis had to focus on what was in front of him. Without the guidance he usually operated under, it was his choices and his choices alone that would broker the future without Astrals to pull the strings. 

The scourge-bringer waited, biding his time until the opportune moment. He watched from the seams between worlds as Noctis walked through the apocalyptic landscape, waiting for the moment when he might strike. 

Ardyn would have been sleeping soundly for some time—likely hours, in order for his body to repair the damage that Ifrit had done to it. Noctis was nowhere to be found when a hot wind blew the door to the room open with a slam loud enough to wake the dead. 

Hours it would take for the Immortal Accursed’s body to heal and mend from a struggle with a god. In sleep and rest it repaired faster than if he were awake, unaware of his lover’s dalliance into the unknown darkness right outside. There were no dreams in such a drugged, forced sleep; no visits from the Infernian and no feel of the call or his wounds. 

Ardyn awakened with a start quickly rising in preparation for a fight. His wounds had given way to clean, unbroken skin. No longer did they pain him, and he could even feel that his leg would bear him once more. Swiftly did he come to realize there was a missing piece to this room: Noctis. His gaze traversed the entirety of the room to find no trace of his lover. No where was he to be seen.  
“Noct?” When no answer came was when the concern started to settle into his breast-- perhaps even _fear_. 

No. _No_. **No**. This was precisely why he had not wished to sleep! An angered snarl escaped from his lips, and the Accursed drew himself from the bed uncaring of the state of his attire, bandages and pants stained in his own dried black blood. They were _so close_ to Ravatogh. Too close for his companion to even think about wandering off. Least that was his hope of all he had done. 

“Noctis!” He called out into the abyss of endless night as he made his way from their room. No call came say for the uncharacteristically hot air. To and fro, to and fro his eyes went in attempts to spot even a glimmer of the Chosen. Feet carried him beyond the motel with more cries of Noctis’ name filling the nearly suffocating air. Worry and fear grew into a crescendo that merged into anger as Ardyn searched and searched. 

Finally a sign across the street beneath a flickering floodlight. A lone figure laying upon the ground. 

“Noct, you should know better than to wander off on your own.” Rage was present in his tone as he drew closer, but no movement came. No sound. No rise and fall of his chest. Nothing. Distance was crossed quickly at a near running pace as the immortal knelt upon the ground. Black widened, blown wide as to consume the amber of his irises. “Noct…?” 

A gruesome sight as any, the Chosen lie with blackest ichor dried upon his face where it had leaked from his eyes, mouth, and nose. His clothing appeared as little more than rags upon his body. Signs of bruising, injuries, rape all painted in a morbid picture on a too still body. Blue eyes stared unseeing and clouded to the blackened sky, face frozen in a soundless cry of fear and pain. 

There was doubt in his mind that the corpse before him real, but he knew those eyes. He knew his companion well. No illusions to be had here. Ardyn had spent the entirety of Noctis’ life tracking his every movement. Orchestrating every tragedy that befell. Most elaborate of suicide plans taken two thousand years to bring forth. The ring of the Lucii lay there in the dirt and gravel, cracked and shattered. The light that would have sustained his lover and brought him back… gone gone _**gone**_!

Vice gripped around an otherwise cold heart; a tightness in Ardyn’s chest. His hands reached, reaching out to caress the smooth skin of a cold cheek. The life had long left his lover’s body. Devastation like no other rose, bubbled, and settled into his being. Hope. It lie dead. The man he had suffered through Ifrit's abuse for and fought to protect was gone. One who had given him what he previously though was impossible, now taken from him no doubt by the Infernian himself and the Starscourge as he lie sleeping as a babe. 

_What had Noctis done?!_

“You wretched fool.” He felt it all there threatening to crush him as it had once done in Angelgard. What he cared for had been taken from him once more. Fingers traced the features of the King of Kings' delicate face lightly in an affectionate manner before he closed the lids of his eyes. Then, a choked gasp escaped him-- an anguished sound of a wounded animal. 

What his heart had grown fond of even… _loved_ now forever stolen by an Astral.

The sound that came out of Ardyn's mouth was something that had not graced the Infernian's ears in millennia. Long ago, Ardyn had ceased to show the pain that tore at him constantly. In some way, Ifrit had become driven to prove that not only had his heart turned from him, but that his denial of his feelings for Noctis were a slight to him as well. All of it was; but the weakened Astral could hardly think straight though his divine body had done its best to stitch him and his vessel back together. Still, his eyes were darkened, the scourge blackening milky white skin in blotchy bruise-like patches. 

It would've pleased him greatly to make this a reality, but as it were even with the Scourge at his beck and call, Ifrit lacked the strength to push enough of the pathogen into Noctis—even like this; even manually as he had left him to appear; abused and battered by the so-called affections of a god who knew not the limits of a human shell. Oh how he longed for it to be real: And how he would strive to make it a reality—just as soon as he had had the time to recover. 

Perhaps now, he thought, Ardyn would see the error of his ways. 

The petulant Astral used his failing power to materialize his smaller, human form. It took less out of him than the godform which his now deceased sister had so kindly destroyed for him upon his attempts to free Ardyn from imprisonment in his early years in Angelgard. Some never managed to regain their form once it was lost, but Ifrit was a stubborn creature who saw himself once the chief of the Astrals, still wore the crown of gold and jewels upon his brow even after all the Eons-- despite being laid low by Bahamut. 

History was on an endless repeat. Ardyn should have known better. Known better than to allow himself to feel anything other than hatred from the Chosen. Even before this dark path they had chosen, Noctis was his mark. _His_ kill. His hand had almost reached his chest in a clenched fist before he heard the miserable, deplorable, pathetic voice of a divine creature. 

Ifrit stood next to Ardyn, just beyond his peripheral vision for a moment as he began to speak.

"'Tis a tragedy—how poorly the light responds to the Scourge, is it not?" He drawled lazily as he gestured to the awful vision before him. "As beautiful in death as in life. Perhaps he can join the others you keep about the hallowed halls of the Citadel." 

Yes, now—now Ardyn would have to face it. He would be crushed by his affection for this foolish young king, and Ifrit would take what was his back into hand. Or so he thought; ever delusional god. 

"You should have heard how he cried and wept and begged—he thought if he shouted your name enough, you would be roused and come to save him. Tragic, indeed." 

Quickly, swiftly it all shifted inside of himself. Rage writhed, bubbled, and burst within his mortal vessel. Slowly did his head turn to regard the Infernian. Power brimmed and boiled beneath the surface, drawing forth the darkness and spark of light that remained. The sound of shattering glass echoed over the plain as all twelve of the Royal Arms within his possession formed around him in magenta translucent light. 

To hear Noctis had shouted for his aid, but he was too insensate to answer... The ache within his heart grew, fueling more and more of the anger in his features.  
“Enough!” All semblance of that control in his tone cracked and fractured. There was only the monster to be found here, now. --The one that did not know mercy nor compassion. Twelve weapons all sent forth at once towards the damnable god. If Ifrit thought he would cower and buckle under this strain then he would find himself sorely mistaken. 

He did not wait until the last one drove through flesh before Ardyn had shoved and pushed this lesser form to the ground, uncaring of the black blood mingling with his own, dried and tainted. Straddled him and pinned the Infernian in place.  
“He was never yours to toy with! He was never yours to have! That privilege was to be mine alone!” He laughed then, loud and maniacal as sanity fled under the strain. 

“And every. Waking. Moment--” 

A dagger materialized within his grip immediately made to stab into a shoulder as a howling sound tore from the Infernian. Tear. Tear. Splinter. Crack; until the limb was torn free of Ifrit’s body. “--I have will be spent tearing you asunder-“ He tossed the severed arm aside as blood sprayed and pooled beneath them. No time would he waste to dig and cut and pull until the other arm joined the first. The cries the Infernian unleashed now in absolute agony were the sweetest of all music to his tortured, suffering mind. “-again and again!” 

The dagger was sheathed within flesh right at the junction of hips mutilating genitals that had raped-- _defiled_ \-- and brought about his lover’s infection. 

“I will never love you.” Hilt grabbed and tugged free. He stabbed into solid flesh over and over again uncaring of the mess he was making; the entrails that painted the once lush, green fields. 

Ardyn smirked, yanking upon luscious fire-orange hair. Lips ghosted across a paling neck as he spoke menacing and low just as the Accursed he was famed to be. “Tell me Ifrit. How does eternity feel now?” Clean, effective slice. The surgical precision of even a fallen healer as a throat was split open. He leaned back admiring his handiwork with a smile that bore teeth.. “Here is a corpse befitting my collection.”

It all happened so quickly that Ifrit hardly had time to fight back. There was a chance in his mind though, as the searing pain of a blade tore through his extremities, that he would have let Ardyn have this victory. A shame to lose his favored vessel entirely, but it mattered little. They would have their final showdown, and the contested ‘most powerful’ of the Hexatheon would state his claim upon the very mountain that Bahamut had cast him down upon—the one that had been the heart and seat of his worship since the beginning of time. It would be there that they would face each other at last and end this. 

All of what he had shown Ardyn had been merely a prelude to what he hoped to bestow upon him; a lasting pain that would carry him through eternity. Yes, Ifrit would use their final battle in hopes of destroying what was left of the ailing chosen. Funny still, that Ardyn did not see through his illusion. The real Noctis would be wandering nearby—lost in a terrible fog that only he could see. It would fade with time, though hopefully not before Ardyn had had long to sit and think on the ugly, twisted corpse that Ifrit had conjured for him. 

Unlike the screams of his brethren, Ifrit laughed as he was severed from his mortal form—a bitter and cold sound that split the night like lightning as Ardyn ripped him apart. He laughed because Ardyn knew it as much as he did; that it was futile. That if this was in fact the truth, they would stay locked in this useless cycle forever. 

As his human body died a most violent of deaths, Ifrit’s spirit detached from the mortal form that he had worn now for millenia—But unlike those born human he would not pass into the realm of the crystal. 

“Weep for him Ardyn. Your weakness is laid bare for all to see.” The taunt drifted on the wind with little substance. 

So much blood—it would be a wonder if young Noctis did not flee in terror upon finding such a mess. The oppressive heat lingered and then dissipated. He could’ve gone anywhere, but there was only one place that Ifrit would go. He was not running. He returned to his true form at the seat of his power upon his throne—and he waited. 

The illusion remained, leaving Ardyn with the terrible task of deciding what to do with Noctis’ body. 

The light of life left the god’s form Ardyn had come to know for ages. A fair face all that more deceptive than any other Ifrit bore. He slowed in his relentless stabbing. A mangled mess of a body lie underneath him hardly recognizable. He moved to stab slowly once, twice, thrice more before it ceased altogether under that fading whisper on the wind. Adrenaline and mania receded and faded back as there was naught left for him to murder and lash out at. Instead he was just left with only an ugly truth. 

Even he in mind so keen could fall to the human flaw of being deceived; so prominent and real was that fear of losing Noctis. Covered in the black blood of divinity, Ardyn made his way back over to his fallen lover. Heaviness, choking and crippling, settled once more into his breast. 

“Noct.” Low like a plea for it all to be a most egregious nightmare. But it wasn’t. His companion lie in front of him, no longer able to draw breath. The Crystal’s light had been overtaken, making him nothing more than a mortal man that could die. _Had_ died.

“ _Mea culpa, me paenitet_ , Noctis.” Lips drew back in an attempt to withhold whatever ugly, jagged feeling tore through his chest now. Ardyn had made a promise never spoken aloud that he had failed in. He couldn’t protect the one person that still mattered. He couldn’t protect the one absolution left to him in this wretched life. His eyes and cheeks ached and tingled with feeling that he hadn't experienced in millenia. 

The heart always died the slowest and most grievous of deaths. The Accursed felt his own sink and ache and tear. By Eos, he could still imagine that smile and promise in his eyes. Those moments spent by a campfire with a man who understood him. Naive words from an overly optimistic king that turned into a promise Noctis had tried his best to keep.

A man that had wormed his way into his life against all Ardyn’s original intentions for them. Ever that fine line he walked now thoroughly finding himself on the other side with a mourning heart that ached for the loss of its love. When had he allowed himself to fall to such a weakness again? --Only for it to be snatched away. 

An anguished cry burst forth from lips just as the flames from his hand did-- to burn his lover’s body from this world. It was what Noctis deserved; not to be some corpse part of his collection. Noctis had not in the end been his kill. He had earned what so few had earned: Ardyn's respect. 

He sat and watched with hand clenched and pressed over his chest. His other ruffled through his wine colored hair as another sound escaped him that might have been a sob. The sound of his heart and hope dying once more-- just as surely as the ash of the Chosen’s form was spirited away from him by the wind.

Noctis had made it back just in time to see the burst of flame, nearly white-hot though its purpose was something that now Ardyn alone could actually see. He’d come back with several good finds, (still edible!) tucked away in his bag—but that was all forgotten as the sound of Ardyn’s voice, broken as though it was tearing from him in _sobs_ met his ears. 

What had happened? The thought of Ardyn crying elicited two responses in him: One made him want to find whatever had caused it and tear it apart. The other was mild disbelief—what could have possibly happened to make him fall apart like that? He shook himself from the frozen point as he rushed to his lover’s side. 

“Damn fog rolled down off of that blasted mountain and I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face…” And the true mess of the scene before him became apparent as he drew nearer in the light of the lone, flickering floodlight that the generator was supporting. Ardyn was covered in blood—blackened so it was unclear as to whether or not it was his own, and Noctis could smell the stench of death as he approached. 

It didn’t take much to make sense of the tangle of severed limbs and viscera beside him—though the only thing really recognizable was the shock of thick copper curls. 

“Ifrit—was. You–” Noctis had thought that if he’d left him to sleep he’d be safe, or at least unable to be tormented so directly. 

Trying to overcome his shock, Noctis could clearly see that his was worse—That Ardyn seemed to have completely slipped either away or into his own mind. His first instinct was to drop to his knees in the mess before him, hands coming up to brush at his lover's face. Were there tears, or was it sweat from the heat? Noctis didn’t have the heart to pry further. The thought of Ardyn weeping did something to him he couldn't put into words. 

“What happened? Ardyn, tell me what happened. Look at me, _please_.” 

Thought flickered across Ardyn's ailing mind as though giving over the last of himself to those Daemons would be fitting enough in this moment. What was left for him now? An endless stretch of time with no hope of vengeance or absolution from this fate thrust upon him? Allow the two remaining gods to watch as the monster they created tore the rest of the world asunder. Infect. _Infect_. Until there was nothing left to save. That was what was left to him now. 

Too familiar; a voice came filtering in through the darkest of thoughts and decisions. Noctis. No. No. No. This was an illusion. _A trick_. Noctis was gone. Dead. Eyes steadfastly focused on the scorched ground where his lover’s body once was. Now little more than ash to drift away in memory of the man that once was. 

And perhaps two tears had escaped from him in seeing the light disappear. To have it happen all over again: for all to be taken from him. All that was left was to seal him away once more in a prison, but this one was of his own making in his own despair and endless suffering with the Daemons. 

Warmth. Hands and touch he knew well haunted and torment him. Such concern from nothing more than a specter. He wanted to believe them to be real more than anything, but he would no longer give into the Infernian’s trickery. 

“Leave me. You are not truly here.” His voice cracked, but gained strength and conviction in that moment. “Leave me!” Noctis’ hands were slapped away and Ardyn backed away placing some distance between them. 

His sword was drawn from the aether, held out in threatening manner to the illusion that wore the face of his lover. His eyes held dangerous intent and a willingness to follow through. The blade held dangerously close to what he didn’t realize was Noctis’ very real neck. “Torment me no further. I will suffer no more of your tricks.”

There was genuine hurt in Noctis’ eyes when Ardyn swatted him away, knuckles stinging as he drew back into himself and blinked dumbly at his companion. He had seen him unhinged, but never quite like this. 

He might have gotten angry and shouted back, even with the sword leveled at him but that accusation drove home, and his startled mind pieced it together. Ifrit had to have been screwing with his head—he obviously was so enraged that he’d torn Ifrit’s very real human vessel apart like some ravenous beast. The stench of death, the blood mixing with soil and asphalt—it was all very real. 

“I—I’m not! Ardyn, please. Gods I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to knock you out like that. I just. I wanted you to rest and it must’ve slipped into my magic. You were suffering so much.” He babbled incoherently, hands raised to show that he was in fact, not going to make any more sudden movements. 

If nothing else, he was relieved to see that Ardyn’s injuries had indeed healed. His own state was… not nearly so good. It was strange; the unearthly fog that had made it impossible to get back had made his lungs feel like they were full of concrete. The wheezing that had begun before was now accompanied by labored breathing. 

The blade did not waver. It did not falter even as Noctis drew further back to place more distance between them. Ardyn only wished for Ifrit to leave him. Cease with his parlor tricks so that for once he could endure his own suffering and fracturing emotions in peace. He did not want explanations from a ghostly image that wasn’t real. What he wanted… he believed in his head he could no longer have. “You even manage to mimic his words. How clever. I still wish nothing to do with you.” He all but growled. Eyes narrowed.

“I tried to find my way back, but everything was foggy and no matter how far I walked it was like I kept going in circles. I should’ve been here. _I’m going to kill that son of a bitch_ –” It ended in a growl that brought something inhuman out of his voice. He drew in a few breaths and shook his head, absolutely devastated by the broken face before him. 

Gone was the jester’s smirk that seemed plastered eternally in place, always concealing the madness just beneath the surface of those amber eyes. In its place was absolute despair. It was everything that Noctis had been fighting against from the beginning—or at least since he had realized the compassion he felt for Ardyn; the deep desire to accept him as he was, even if he couldn’t forgive him. 

Gravel scraped beneath him as he shifted back, lip trembling as he tried to contain his emotions and face this with poise. “I don’t know what he did to you— we can’t let him tear us apart. We can’t fight him if you don’t believe me.” He paused, mind racing. "Look.“ And he held out the ring of the Lucii where it sat heavily on his finger, the angry whispers of his ancestors close and far at the same moment as he conjured a small burst of white flame; of Holy—a small expenditure of the light that resided within him in the hopes of figuratively casting the darkness from Ardyn’s eyes. 

Bright, white light emanated from a ring unbroken and fully intact. Crystal light that sent the Daemons beneath his flesh writhing and growling in face of what could surely end them. This. This was not something Ifrit in all of his gracious power could imitate, but still it did not come easy to shake the emotions brought to the surface. Ardyn was uncharacteristically cautious; unsure of what to believe. He had seen Noctis’ dead body. He could still see in his mind's eye the last of the ashes picked up by the wind and carried away. 

He was shaking his head—trying to deny the insinuation that he was in fact, still just an illusion. Noctis was tired; his body ached, and it settled into him more and more as time drew on. The Scourge was working into his bones; into his very core. There was not much time left, and he knew that. 

Then, his sword was dropped and disappeared in crystalline light as he drew near his companion. It was Ardyn who reached out, lifting the Chosen’s chin and examining him with eyes still broken by a recent despair and aching heart. Noctis showed signs of the infection, but he was warm and breathing. The immortal did not dare to believe it. He merely pressed his forehead to Noctis’, keeping his chin in place. 

This was real. He was real. Hope still existed while the King of Kings yet lived. The man in front of him was no illusion. Fingers slid from his chin to brush at raven hair. Even with the relief blossoming within now, he was left with something probably more unsettling. A crippling weakness that had almost hammered the final nail into his coffin. Something that had taken root and grown within him despite the layers of denial and rationalization he placed over it. 

He cared for him. _He held affections for him. **He loved him**_. 

Not in an idyllic manner told in fairy tales and romance novels, but still his heart had ached at his supposed loss. And slowly he pulled Noctis closer into his lap and just held him in an attempt to calm his raging, despairing mind. His touch dug into his lover wherever his hands rested, but this was different than his usual violence. Affectionate. Reverent. 

“Noct.”

Noctis tensed only for a moment after the sword was dropped and his companion: His king, _his_ Ardyn—pulled him close. Several shallow, labored breaths of relief as he touched him; held him close. This was not the simple grasp of possession or demand—it was heavy with something more. This was no thing wrapped in light and purity, but it was real. Noctis knew that then for certain in his heart. 

As Ardyn breathed his name, Noctis pressed a soft but brief kiss to his lips—brushing stubble momentarily as his lashes fluttered shut. His own rage was forgotten momentarily as they held each other in the barren landscape, swathed in the stink of death and the Scourge tinging Noctis’ insides black. 

“I’m here.” He promised softly, hand coming up to curl gently at the nape of Ardyn’s neck. That was all he could promise, really. 

At first, he couldn’t meet his eyes. They had in that moment been so intense that it made Noctis’ face burn. Finally after a few moments, he cupped his cheek and took another few breaths to steady himself as the pad of his thumb brushed against Ardyn’s face. This tenderness was something he never imagined himself capable of. He never thought that he could ever feel such a genuine connection, and it was terrifying and freeing at the same moment. They had been—born for each other. Destined for each other across time and space, and now they were taking that destiny into their own hands. 

“I’m so sorry,” He intoned again—soft blue meeting amber as he sucked up the courage to push a little forward. “I won’t leave you again.”

Noctis offered everything he could to comfort Ardyn; soft voice, fingertips caressing anywhere that he could reach. If that was all he could do then it was more than fine. The thing in his heart had been made real no matter what that meant, no matter where it took them. 

Several moments Ardyn would take breathing in the silence and relief presented to him. He remained quiet drinking in reality and banishing away what had been the illusion. He had been such a fool to fall for a god’s trick. Such a fool for allowing his heart to beat to the tune of something other than the spite, hatred, and vengeance within his breast. 

Words were allowed to sink in as he attempted to further calm his mind so close to breaking as to give even that last shred of his humanity over. Perhaps then he would be too numb and unaware of the world to feel anything. He cursed himself over and over in his mind for allowing this of all things to happen. Noctis was his weakness. Something others could exploit to grab and torment his very core as it had been all those years ago. How had he allowed himself this over just prettied words and _understanding_? Perhaps that was the answer. Noctis could give him what no other could --no matter how much the Accursed loathed and hated his lineage. 

And worst of all? There was little doubt that Noctis knew this. The Chosen could use it against him as well, however, he doubted it would come to pass. Noctis was a man of just as few of words as he. Ardyn knew in some way the sentiment was returned. That was the most frightening notion of all. 

“I know.” His voice had returned to its normal metered drawl even if there was a softness in his eyes as he looked upon Noctis. His finger came to rest under his lover’s chin tilting his head slightly upwards. 

What more could he do now? Experience told him it was far harder now to kill and murder the feeling that was blossoming and etching into his very being. He was an ever confident man. Here would be no different. He would merely have to vanquish those who could use this against him. Entwine Noctis to himself so tightly that even he could not use this against him. With those thoughts, he pressed a kiss to the Chosen’s lips far more affectionate than any he had given before. He wondered how deep he could make that blush in his cheeks.

The softness of the kiss was almost jarring in its own right. Noctis' breath caught in his throat, but it wasn't for the usual reason. His desires for Ardyn were now rather easy to ignite. The warmth he felt now was more steady, more focused than the quick burn of simple lust. Perhaps it was an inevitability with the way they were moving forward with all of this. Perhaps if you stayed with one partner long enough, those feelings would simply creep up on you, regardless of your own natural resilience against them. 

Features stayed thus for a while longer before they hardened into that of a man lingering on the edge of anger to prove a vital point. “Never. Force me against my will again.” Each word punctuated so Noctis would not soon forget his point. But rage did not linger on the man in his lap for long. “Ifrit will pay. I will deliver him as a mangled thing at your feet that you will destroy for me.”

Noctis took as deep a breath as he could and apologized again. "I didn't mean to. I didn't even know my magic could do that. I. I'll be careful from now on," He said, a bit sheepish as his gaze fell. 

And then, in regard to that last bit—he nodded and tried to affect a more serious expression but—he was just so doe eyed here before Ardyn and the intense way he was looking at him. Those eyes had always been something else, but the way they bored into him now was as though they could capture his soul. As though he searched for it without saying a word. 

Noctis ran his hand gently along Ardyn's arm and looked back towards where they were staying. The mountain loomed over everything, but he didn't fear Ifrit making another attempt. He wasn't strong enough to risk coming down from the hellish heat of the caldera at the peak. He had once encountered the monstrous Zu there—the memory made him shudder a bit. Ifrit was going to be a good deal more frightening than the Zu. This was for Ardyn. For all of the misery that Ifrit had caused him through the centuries. For the pain that was being inflicted on his own body as well. Perhaps—Ifrit's meddling had ended up causing everything, in its own right though he knew it was unwise to forget about Bahamut for too long. 

Slowly, he disentangled himself from Ardyn's limbs, arms reaching out to help him to his feet. He tried not to stare though—any time he saw Ardyn without his shirt was a bit telling. He frowned, remembering the scars he'd discovered before— Why hadn't they gone away like all the others? With the same reverence with which Ardyn had cradled him earlier, he ran his fingertips lightly over the marks that he had given such little thought to before and then shook his head as though trying to clear an entirely different kind of fog. 

"Come on. Let's go back and try to get a little rest before... we head up the mountain." 

Noctis was exhausted, and his body was weak—but he would be the first to agree if Ardyn refused. They might not have time. Still, he found himself fixated on those faint scars. He wanted to worship them, as though his touch could soothe away everything that they had meant; all of the pain they had represented for so long. Maybe with time, he thought. If only he had time. Noctis cast a vague glance back to the mess of a corpse on the ground, tried not to linger on It too long. 

"--And we should find you a shirt. Y'know. So I'm not distracted."


	16. The Revelation of Ifrit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle against Ifrit is only the beginning of the end... He speaks a new prophecy in his final moments that shakes even Ardyn's convictions.

Those scars in front were far less visible that the rough, jagged ones that lined along his back. These were nearly faded. Hard to see unless under the right light where some blades pierced straight through to the other side. They marked the most painful of the stabs into his body. Noctis’ touch to them was not unwelcome even if they were not as sensitive as those upon his back. 

He gave a devious smile at the declaration. “No, we can not have that, can we?” As he would never resist such temptations, he approached Noctis, caressing bare skin underneath his shirt and slid under the waistband of his pants to touch and tease the sensitive flesh of his hips. Small presses of lips and teeth bestowed upon the column of Noctis’ neck. Ardyn’s thoughts, however, were not just upon the lust beginning to tug on his mind. 

Though he wished to continue this in a more pleasurable manner with Noctis squirming beneath him, there was another more pressing and looming issue than his own libido. The pathogen was spreading quickly now through his lover. The streaks of black in his eyes meant time was not something they had any longer. His caress retreated as did those biting kisses to gaze at the Chosen’s face so flushed now after his ministrations. Without it he would be as pale as the Accursed knew this stage of infection would entail. 

“Time is not afforded to us anymore. If you are to be prevented from becoming _what I am_. We will pack. Sleep in the automobile if you must.” So tempting it was to be unable to find a shirt, but he truly did not need Noctis distracted. “You are weakened. I will create another remedy,” He paused. His expression stern. “This coming struggle will be mine to bear.” An implication that he did not voice was this: Noctis was to allow him to handle this fight alone. His assistance was only necessary to cleave the Infernian’s life force from the soul of the star. 

Noctis nodded at that. He knew that Ardyn knew best as far as this was concerned. Some might think it cruel, to push him so hard as he was quite literally dying—but Noctis knew also that time was something they didn't have. He would rather prepare to fight than end up trapped with the knowledge that he had failed for some indefinite amount of time. He couldn't do that to Ardyn, not when they were so close. 

Rage still seethed even if his lover had abated the worst of it. It surely would rise once amber eyes were laid upon the deity whom awaited them upon his mountain throne. Ardyn did not wait for an answer and merely started back towards their temporary lodgings.

He had done his best to keep his composure-- but the way Ardyn touched him always left him shaken. He was a bit fuzzy-minded as he trailed after him into their room. All there was to collect was the few added supplies he'd managed to glean from dusty shelves, really—and he stopped to try to straighten out his own clothes. The cloak and pauldron he often forwent were pulled from subspace. His shirt was getting a bit frayed—what _trouble_ he'd gone through to reclaim the damned things before setting out to find Ardyn. It had taken a good deal of sneaking and watching. He wondered if their absence had been noticed. 

Didn't matter now. Again, Noctis addressed himself in the mirror and his deathlike pallor—well, it was to be expected. Now he had to ask the hard questions. He still wanted to know exactly what it was that Ifrit had tormented Ardyn with, but first thing was first. 

"If we kill him, can you... cure me?" He asked slowly. 

It was not a selfish request. Noctis wasn't dumb. He knew that this battle was one thing—something Ardyn was now prepared to face: But he doubted facing Bahamut alone was on his list of things he wanted to do. In a way, Noctis felt that the battle against the Draconian was rather personal. He didn't want to fall before they had finished him. If he did after then... no—even then he'd be failing Ardyn. 

His teeth gritted, tainted liquid-as-tears gathered in his eyes but did not quite fall. 

"I don't want to fail. I want to keep my promise." He said. The frustration he felt with his degradation was clear. He had to face it now, despite keeping a strong face all this time. He had continued shakily stuffing bottles into bags—they'd serve both as potions and as ice bombs in the coming battle. He could offer that much as support at least. 

Mentally Ardyn searched through the space where his Royal Arms and supplies resided within the Armiger. There were miscellaneous items shoved in there as well; things he had nearly forgotten to time itself. Eventually, he found a suitable shirt to pull from the aether. The replica of his infamous coat and vest could wait until after a bath which he couldn’t be afforded now. Still it was a garment pulled out of time, black with ruffled and flared sleeves: His preference since his time as king. 

As his lover busied himself in the mirror, the Accursed imbued another of the bottles into a remedy. No doubt in his mind that the Chosen would have turned already if not for the slowing effect these offered. 

Noctis was faltering in that normally stubborn demeanor that masked all the problems he kept bottled up. His default state was to withdraw into himself. This Ardyn knew well by now. 

He approached his companion from behind, placing the bottle infused with light in front of him before wrapping his arms in a possessive manner about his waist. Task fell entirely to him now to lead the Chosen down this path and to aid him when he needed reassurances. 

A kiss was laid just below his ear. “When he falls I can remove this affliction from you. What prevents me now is his personal magical energy. Even if the pathogen he placed inside of you is mutated, I can draw it within myself to be contained.” As he always had since his time as the Chosen King. Finger rose to urge Noctis to turn his head to face him. “Worry not, your Majesty. The Draconian will yet feel our wrath. We shall not fail.” He caressed and scratched at the beard growing in beneath his touch providing some way of soothing the man who responded well to affections. 

“Or perhaps without his influence the Crystal’s light within you may be able to overcome it on its own.” He mused aloud over ideas he had given thought to on their way to Altissa. “It did after all take nearly thirty short years to overcome yours truly.” And Ardyn was certain he would win the bet on whom was possessed by more of the darkness.

“I wish you didn’t have to,” He commented slowly. Noctis would not fight it. He just hoped that they had enough time. That would be enough. 

He knew that that was how the Oracle healed. He knew that that was the only way to get better; at his expense though—what were a few more to the myriad Daemons he played host to already? They had driven him mad, and Noctis could understand it now with his own instability—the frequency with which that guttural inhuman speech came out of his mouth. 

Noctis looked at them together in the mirror, and his heart leapt and fluttered; unfamiliar. He didn’t know what it meant. It wasn’t like the puppy love he’d felt for Ignis or Prompto, or the more carnal things he’d felt with Gladio as they got older—it was something else. The weight was both terrifying and somehow comforting, a weird imbalance that he couldn’t wrap his head around. 

Obediently, Noctis took the remedy offered him and took several long drinks from it. He was thirsty to start with—it was easy to drain it and feel the light seeping in and offering at least some sense of relief. Somehow he felt like it steeled his nerves as well, and slowly he wriggled himself around so he could look up at Ardyn, arms slung lightly about his waist. Like a cat he had leaned into the fingers passing through the hair that decorated his chin—and it had gotten rather out of hand quickly, hadn’t it? He’d forgotten when he’d last shaved properly, not that it mattered now. A deep breath taken, and he leaned up, greying lips pressed to his lover’s cheek. 

“No more stalling. I want to see Ifrit dead. I can’t wait to have you hand him over to me. I can’t wait to burn him out of existence.” He muttered lowly. 

It was more bloodthirsty than he ever was—though he knew quite well that now, he wanted his own revenge in ways that not even Ardyn had managed to make him want it. There was a part of him that wanted that still—The darkness twisted his mind, made him want to use the love growing between them to make Ardyn hurt. To make him suffer the way that Luna and Prompto had. 

It took Noctis effort to shake those thoughts—to strangle them and quash them. No one would’ve blamed him if he did turn on Ardyn in the end, surely; but that was not what he wanted. That was incongruent with what he felt. It was the Starscourge talking; the Daemons festering inside of him and trying to smother the light. 

“ _Now_. Before I…” He didn’t have to say it as he pressed in closer, burying his face against Ardyn’s neck. 

What other method was open to them? Ardyn saw little else unless fortune favored them and the Crystal’s light ‘woke up’ once the deity vanished from the world. More Daemons would take adjusting, but he was certain he could manage. He had to. There was little choice if he wished to see Bahamut be dragged into the abyss with his brethren. 

That memory of Noctis lying dead upon the ground would not soon leave his tormented mind. If there had been any mercy left in his bones for the Infernian it was banished with that act alone. Now to see his love agonizing so because of the most heinous act inflicted upon him. -- _Only he was allowed to cause the Chosen such pain_. 

His hand reached up curling, and intertwining with his lover’s hair trying to impart him with some manner of encouragement. “You will not.” He smirked a little as his thoughts were still less than innocent even now. It was unlike him to withhold his desires and lusts so, but the situation demanded it of him. “And when we return-” A touch shifted and brought upon Noctis’ shapely ass in a teasing manner. “-I shall enjoy you. Have you writhing beneath me with that gorgeous face you always give while being taken. And I would have you forget what he has done.” 

Caress and tease Noctis until the Infernian’s touch was erased and forgotten and replaced by his own. Slowly, he placed space between them taking their bag onto his arm without another word to leave their room for the car. The distance was not vast, but the longer they lingered the more the corruption spread within the Chosen. So fragile was the light of the Crystal against the might of the plague and Ifrit’s own terrible magic. 

A voice low, grumbling awakened from the slight slumber from within the Astral realm not deaf to the cries of his brethren, but unwilling to remove himself from his self-seclusion. He mourned the lost of his kindred, but not in the manner of mortals. Bahamut was an immortal creature too ancient to grasp the deeper concepts of humanity. 

Metal blades that acted as wings shifted and shimmered in the crystalline realm. Blue eyes opened unable to slumber in the wake of divine screams. Lights snuffed out from existence. Only one other remained aside from he. A brother cast out long ago and laid upon the ground at Ravatogh. He reached out over the distance to speak to him now. Upset that the Chosen had not followed the Revelation of Bahamut passed down for centuries. 

_**“O’ Ifrit speak to me now in this coming hour before all ceases. Why do you linger and wait? Can you not sense the deaths of your kin? The emptiness where there was once divinity?”** _

Upon Ravatogh, the formless being lingered, resting and biding his time for what little he had left. Sensing Bahamut—familiar, once beloved, now only the reminder of how he had been wronged and abandoned left Ifrit with a foul taste that rippled over his entire nebulous existence. 

_**“You call upon me now, dragon armored one? O self-made chieftain of the gods who hides in his crystal! The hour draws late. Best keep clear lest you contract my darkness. Lo, what a sight that would be! Begone, Bahamut. You know as well as I that you would be devoured by the plague. That’s why you hide in your astral realm—so as to not end up as I have ended up. But I am more. More than I was before. More than you could ever imagine, and by my hands all light that you have wrought will be undone.”**_

He wasted no time in his first denial. Ifrit’s presence swirled and settled, coalescing as he beckoned forth the throne upon which he had seated himself for millenia. It was his re-assertion: He was the one that bore the crown. He was the one who had once held the true power of the Star. But Ifrit could no longer remember a time when he was not corrupted by the Scourge that he made himself the master of now. Who he had been was long forgotten by all but perhaps Bahamut, now. 

He peered with burning eyes from beneath that near-molten gold up at the sky, as though expecting to see the splendid form of Bahamut for himself—though he had not looked upon him in physical shape since he had been cast down upon Ravatogh. 

_**“Even as we speak, I am crushing the light of your ill-given crystal from the King of Kings. He has turned on you, Bahamut. You are a fool. All will end.”** _

Wings twitched in the realm unseen by all as Bahamut kept distance from a brother he fought against. Still fought against and rejected from the Hexatheon. The little known god of fire almost completely forgotten to time due to his meddling. Better that the world at large knew little of his wayward brethren least they follow in his footsteps. He was divine in name alone. _**“The Chosen is grave in error. Tis not better to preserve what is left before all is lost? His corruption began long before your intervention.”**_

He chose not to comment on Ifrit’s inflated sense of self. He was still yet weaker than the Draconian. Even with the added power granted by the Scourge, Ifrit could not hope to defeat the last of his kindred. _**“Do not be blind and deaf. You are yet with eyes closed to what your scheming was wrought. The Usurper is not broken. The blood of a fire god will he bathe in should you not take my offer before your day is done.”**_

He knew Ardyn better than his brother or so he would like to believe. He had seen with eyes unclouded what love and emotions could drive humans to do. What could drive even one so corrupted as the fallen king still. 

_**“A chance yet remains if you lay down your ways deviated from the path. Come into the fold so we may yet destroy these fallible mortals.”**_ Mortals meant to solve the issues that Ifrit helped to create. Mortals were meant to die. It was the way of things. Better to sacrifice them than risk one of their own to purge the world from this endless nightmare. 

Ifrit sneered skyward from his place upon his throne as Noctis slumped in the seat next to Ardyn and they began the curving drive up to the foot of Ravatogh. The climb would not be easy. Surely, there were more Daemons than before to be dealt with. 

He could feel the Scourge in his blood singing, calling out to its master. It made him want to give into the right he had to fall to the power of the hate festering in his heart, but he did not. He closed his eyes and focused instead upon Ardyn himself. Let it be as it had to be. He would keep his promise– 

“They’re so angry. They make me want to hate everything.” It was spoken to no one in particular, but Noctis knew Ardyn would know what he meant. 

Long since had Ardyn learned to ignore the background grumbling, shrieking, and raging of those Daemons. Noctis was not as fortunate as he was to know how to. He should never have to be. That damnable Crystal light was needed uncorrupted to end the gods and later, themselves. The only hope either of them had now to put themselves to a permanent rest lie with it. 

“Are you truly surprised by it? Daemons are not the most friendly of creatures and certainly do not entertain thoughts of tea parties and socials,” The immortal jested, but reached over to massage the nape of the Chosen’s neck to provide distraction. “Focus on something more pleasant. They do not enjoy that. The temptation of the power they could grant is great, however, remember you have _no need_ of it.” Their plan depended on it. 

More pleasant, he said. Noctis took a deep breath-- as best he could—and searched his mind for whatever that might be. It unfortunately made him face the fact that for some time now, he had had no idea what made him happy, or if anything did anymore. Why should it? Bitterness seeped into his tone. 

"I was kept Bahamut's prisoner for a decade in that weird other world. I guess anybody'd be ready to die after that." A beat as he sighed. "Something more pleasant..." He echoed. 

There was a small sliver of hope in him that kept the light burning bright: the disjointed dream he'd seen of Ardyn and himself laughing with his friends—finding some kind of future that wasn't all for naught. A future that they could share. 

Only then did he have to face the truth of what his heart wanted now: a future with Ardyn. It wasn't just a passing whimsy. He wanted to rule with him; to restore to him all that the Astrals had stripped away. But... that was likely not in the cards. 

He laughed, but it led him to a minor coughing fit—black painting the palm of his hand as he stopped to catch his breath. As much as Noctis hated the idea of sitting anything out... his state was pretty clear, even to him. Noctis nodded slowly, and answered hoarsely to Ardyn's last ascertation. 

“--But he does not hold you now, does he? You are free from their machinations so long as you remain by my side.” Ardyn would ensure that even if it meant fighting the two remaining deities himself. Though it did not mean that Noctis was safe from the Accursed’s scheming and plans. To Ardyn’s slight disappointment but even greater interest Noctis appeared to be learning how to sidestep and dance around his shifting moods. 

An intriguing thought if only they were to live long enough to enjoy it, but Ardyn still strived forward with the notion that his end awaited him. They would turn their blades towards one another and place an end to his too long existence, stretched thin and tired for millennia and more. Immortality was never meant for mortal minds. His was twisted and disjointed from the rest of the world, as unncaring as the Astrals themselves. 

The automobile came to a stop at the foot of the volcano path where he could sense Ifrit awaiting them upon hiis throne of bones and brimstone. He helped Noctis from the car, stealing a kiss from those grayish lips. “Allow me to be your guide to the wondrous splendor that is the Infernian’s home. You need not lift a finger until that ring is needed.”

"Alright. I'll do as you say." 

His hand scratched and caressed at Noctis’ lower back: a casual urging for him to walk forward and follow him along the treacherous trails to where the Infernian would await them. The Daemons here fell in line to the larger monster that awaited at the summit. Even the strongest among them dare not touch divinity. But would he and Noctis not be considered the same after purging the world of the Astrals? 

Upon the peak, at the caldera, Ifrit bared his teeth to the sky. _**"Why don't you show yourself, Draconian? I'll show you what I think about laying down my ways—why don't you try it and live a little? What have you done but rot and wait for two thousand years? Call me as you like, but I am more a god of the people now than you have ever been. I have walked among them, laid hands on them, watched them live and die.... and some become something more,"**_ The Daemons he meant of course. 

It was clear then that even at the impending certainty of his own demise that Ifrit's pain; his anger at the betrayal he had experienced was more real than any concept of mortality. He couldn't imagine death: Why fear it when he was so sure it could never come to him? 

_**"Begone before the god-eaters make you the second course, mmm?"** _

Always full of stubbornness and pride was Ifrit. Little had changed since the dawn of time itself. Even before his corruption and fall from grace he was always a voice of dissent among the Six. _**“The offer will remain still even in what appears the final hour. Remember this.”**_ And maybe Ifrit never would come to them, but the gods’ power was better with another around no matter how devious and fallen it was. Bahamut once more grew silent in his Crystal dwelling, but eyes were for once, awake and aware-- watching. 

Tempted Ardyn was to carry Noctis for how slow he traversed up the mountain side. If any doubt remained in either of their minds that Noctis could fight, it was dispelled here. Lucky they were that the Daemons that did unwisely step into their path were easily dispatched. 

The Accursed stopped short of where he sensed Ifrit’s presence lingered. He cupped his hand over Noctis’ cheek forcing his companion to look at him, Amber eyes intense as they took in the sight of what exactly he was to protect. Motivation-- as if he required more than the rage seething beneath. But the expression spoke more than the usually venomous words that fell from his lips. A look that spoke of his not so hidden affections. Perhaps it would even convey that love that settled into his heart. 

“Do keep yourself out of trouble hmm? No need to make my task more difficult.” He teased, drawing Noctis closer to kiss him.

“We’ll see,” It was with a seed of deception that Noctis spoke in playful lilt. He pressed his lips to Ardyn’s, kissed him with all the warmth that he had left in him though it was dwindling fast. 

It was a matter of pride perhaps—and the rather futile desire to keep Ardyn from worrying too much that had Noctis forging onward, refusing to let up. The incline of the ash-strewn paths turned out to be nearly too much for him; the heat rising from barely cooled lava flows causing sweat to bead on his forehead that plastered his hair to his face, making it seem limp and lifeless. Several times he did stumble, but every time he stubbornly pulled himself upright—fingertips buried in ash and dirt as he clawed to his feet. 

There was something almost animal in the way that he moved, with the fury of something less human than he was by miles urging him forward. 

The higher they climbed, the more he could feel Ifrit’s Scourge-soaked blood calling to him. It made his skin crawl, made him nauseated—but it also drove him forward. It took all he had not to give into the intoxication: the desire to give himself over to the rage and the hate that the monsters inside of him fed off of. 

Upon reaching the edge of the caldera and the final approach, Noctis finally paused—wheezing as his lungs screamed at him. He knew this place; knew the secret narrow path that led to one of his ancestor’s tombs. He laughed weakly, doubled over to catch his breath in the thinner air. 

“What the hell drives somebody to have their tomb put up here?” He asked sharply. “Who in my damned bloodline even knew who the fuck Ifrit was to wanna be interred up here?” 

Honestly though—it was probably better not to know, he realized after a few moments of thought. Noctis huffed and glowered, lips pulled back in a snarl though it had little to do with Ardyn. He dragged an arm across his forehead and laid a hand on his lover’s arm, coughing violently into the other. 

“Almost there.” He had to hold onto the light just a little longer—long enough to protect himself from Ifrit’s attacks. From here, the throne and the light of his lames was visible. He was making no attempt to hide from them at all, as if he were beckoning them to end him. 

Ardyn’s pace had been slowed to accommodate the speed at which his companion was able to move. He could sense the Scourge was fast coming to consume his lover. Consume the light they desperately needed to end all of this and provide both of them with absolution from fate and the Astrals themselves. 

Though Ifrit’s Scourge existed within the Accursed as well, it was hard to distinguish from the other myriad Deamons he harbored within his flesh. 

“Easy Noctis.” The Accursed said trying to soothe the rage so apparently seething inside of his lover. He offered another massage to the nape of his lover’s neck, uncaring that Ifrit saw this. The god knew his feelings-- best that he embrace them here so the drawing out of them could not be used against him.

At the summit Ardyn bade that the Chosen stay behind him. The climb had taken much out of his companion, but Ardyn knew a weak point now in Ifrit’s 'armor.' He knew how to combat him and a few more strategies whizzed around in his mind. His mind had to be focused on the task of drawing the Astral’s ire from Noctis and inflicting the damage necessary to weaken Ifrit so the ring in his power may finish him off. Remain alive long enough as well, if it came to it, to pull some of the damned souls from the Chosen. 

It was a strange thing, that now Noctis was looking to Ardyn as his focus. His world’s axis had shifted entirely, and now he knew he had to hone in. He had to make sure that he didn’t lose sight of their goal for even a moment, lest the darkness take everything from them. Noctis lowered his eyes and let the touch at the back of his neck. That would be his anchor. Even if he fell apart– 

A lingering touch he gave to Noctis’ hand before emerging before the Infernian upon his throne of bones and death. “Ah Ifrit far too soon is it that we meet. I would say we despose with the pleasantries as you are owed none and go straight to the crux of the matter: Your death.” No patience did he have left when faced down with the divine creature that forced slumbering feelings into the light. Some part of Ardyn’s fractured mind knew that even as love was a weakness, it could also be used to fuel strength. 

Strength brought his favored blade to hand. Strength that carried him forward towards the god watching him with careful eye before the assault was launched. 

Ardyn wanted control of this, and Noctis understood why. He would do his best not to interfere with his strategy, but he hadn’t come unprepared or without his own thoughts. As the elder immortal launched into the fray, Noctis skidded down the incline and hid among the rocks, watching for an opening as he fished into the bag hanging over his shoulder. An ampoule of glass charged with ice magic; Ifrit’s bane. He’d poured everything the local aether deposits had to offer into them. 

An awful, guttural sound came from the god upon his throne that Noctis couldn’t quite understand– but it made his nerves sing; threatened to rip that focus out from under him. He focused instead on Ardyn’s movements, waited for him to be clear enough to take aim. 

Though his head spun, though his lungs burned, Noctis took aim and lobbed the first of his ampoules at Ifrit. 

To Noctis’ chagrin, Ifrit moved so swiftly that his sword knocked the magic away, and he took only the edge of what would’ve been the brunt of it—the rest of the blizzard freezing the scalding caldera's surface with its force. He was relieved that it at least shattered far away from Ardyn—friendly fire was something he had to think about consistently where magic was concerned. 

“You come before me now, at the end of all things with vengeance in your heart.” Ifrit’s words were the calm whisper that Noctis recognized again, and he felt frozen—pinned in place by them, as though he could feel his mind reaching out towards him. “You come here only to end me; when you plan on following through with Bahamut’s damnable prophecy after anyway?” 

A seed of doubt sewn in Noctis’ heart as he watched from his hiding place. He had to face that—that Ardyn wished more than anything for the promise of his own death and as soon as all of this was ended, that was what he would seek. 

Little did he care for what the Infernian had to say to him now in this final hour of the great flame’s life. Even if the words he spoke were steeped in some manner of truth. Vengeance against all that he had become, the destiny stripped from him, and the love the god attempted to wrest from his arms. A tilt of his head and a shrug of his shoulders. “What can I say? I am after little more than a mortal man in nothing but soul longing for what was denied to him. Only now I seek to drag the Six down into the abyss along with me.”

No idea would he have that his partner’s intentions were quickly turning to another solution. Another end that they could have, but right now none of that mattered. What mattered was the dispatch of Ifrit as swiftly as possible. “Keep prattling if you desire, but I have long since grown tired of it.” 

Speed once more used to his advantage as he darted around the battlefield. Quickly would Ardyn embed a blade into divine flesh, warp, retrieve it, and warp away again. He had learned from their prior encounter. Distance was key especially if Ifrit decided to make use of that ‘toy’ of his that had nearly gotten him killed before. 

But the small wounds the Accursed inflicted were all meant to be a diversion to the prize he was truly seeking: Ifrit’s horns. If only Noctis’ spell had landed upon it’s intended target fully, it would provide ample distraction. For now he would content at slowly drawing Ifrit’s blood from his flesh with a crazed look in his eyes, terrible for all of the supposed humanity in them. 

Any attempt made by the god to go after his lover hidden behind the rocks was quickly dispatched. Ardyn was not just inflicting damage, but protecting Noctis. “What I did to your mortal form? It will be _nothing_ compared to the suffering you are to endure here!”

Ifrit was not going to play games. He had spent enough time toying with Ardyn and Noctis, and they were no longer the kind of fun that he wanted. This was the end of his spiteful immortal existence. Nothing so far had stopped these two on their rampage, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to tear the very mountain down on top of them. 

His sword plunged deep into the ash-covered cap of the caldera and a plume of lava gushed forth, splattering liquid fire that rained upon the area. He could not see Noctis, but he hoped to drop a most horrific gift upon him. In the same moment he closed his mind on the covenant between himself and the Accursed. Like a vice was his will, iron as he seeked to crush the very life out of Ardyn’s fractured but willful mind. 

“On your knees,” He intoned—a rumble through the air as though his voice was that of the mountain itself. 

Noctis scrambled away from falling magma that hardened into super-heated rocks that might as well have been bullets. He had to press himself behind another boulder, but his cry as something white hot seared into his arm split the night. It had been so sudden and unexpected that he nearly dropped his Blizzara bombs. 

He knew that he had given his position away, and he had to think quickly. He jumped and phased—skidded through the ash as whatever blow he knew would be directed at him pummeled the rocks he’d been crouching by instead as Ifrit's wicked scimitar cleaved boulders. Noctis _ran_ until he could duck into the narrow passage that he knew led to a slender path on the mountainside and up to the ill-placed tomb of one of his ancestors. Immediately, he conjured a greatsword from his Armiger and propped it up between himself and the arch of the passage for support, peering out at the raging fire deity. 

“Like a gnat.” He could hear the Infernian cursing, distracted from his torment by the fact that he couldn’t catch Noctis’ swift movements. For the moment, he was gone—and as safe as he could be until the magma overflowed in his direction. He watched for Ardyn’s flitting movements, only then realizing that Ifrit was up to something—but what?

Lava bubbling forth from the cracks in the ground was cause for concern. Ardyn saw it for what it was: a way to lure his lover out of hiding. Little could he do to provide Noctis relief from such an onslaught. What he could provide however was a means to distract Ifrit from going after the obviously weaker target between the two of them. He feared what Ifrit might do if he got his hands upon Noctis. --What he would turn him into. 

Dagger caught in mid-position as the Accursed prepared for a throw when the shrieking, throbbing, and pounding of the covenant permeated throughout his skull. He visibly faltered even in the wake of knowing the deity would likely try such a petty trick once more to turn the tide of the battle into his favor. The weapon nearly dropped as he was almost brought to his knees. 

However, there was more at stake than just his own flesh and blood. Noctis counted on him to keep the Infernian’s attention. Pure will and that urge to protect the Chosen drove him through the crippling agony that was the inside of his head with gritted teeth. His movements were slowed, not nearly as quick. When his blade was thrown and embedded he found himself clipped in his side by Ifrit's whirling blade. Nearly did not warp away in time to avoid being skewered more. 

Despite the injury, he pointedly kept himself as a target between Ifrit and Noctis. The fire god could not be allowed near him. A very real fear persisted in the very core of the Immortal Accursed that if Ifrit captured Noctis, it would not just be torture but more of the Scourge pumped into his already weakened body threatening to turn on them even as the fires raged. “Come on Ifrit, is that the best you can do? Tricks?” He taunted even as black-red blood trailed from his nose from the very real agony in his skull. 

His mind was his own. A petty god could try to crush it all he liked, but Ardyn had more than one purpose now. More than one to keep safe. Love and will could be powerful motivations and weapons. “You are even more delusional than I thought if you would think I would ever bow to you again.” His voice though strained through pain was a growl; almost animalistic in nature than the normally composed man he prided himself on being.

Ifrit knew what he was doing, and he did it now with no show of mercy. Ardyn was coming at him now, not holding back, and he would be damned if he did not offer the same courtesy. If he really wanted to, he could make his favored servant’s brain into puree—and he laughed as he bellowed a blast of fire breath in his direction. 

Noctis had to duck onto the other side of his wall—he’d been singed, but he wasn’t sure to what extent; the smell of burning hair and fabric filling his senses. All the same, he saw now that there was blood trickling from Ardyn’s nose as he paused. He was uncharacteristically slow in reaction despite the injuries he'd taken on. Noctis had seen him power through worse. 

Ifrit had stopped wielding his sword normally—adding to the strangeness as he focused on the pommel, set with a piece of stone that seemed to match the crystal that sprung from the summit. The same crystal as the one Ardyn carried as proof of their covenant. It dawned on Noctis then as he flitted back into the fray, wheezing—lungs screaming at him– 

The covenant went both ways. The crystal’s power was split between the Astrals and the king they offered their boon-- just because the others’ hadn’t been visible… _of course_ Ifrit would wear the mark of his covenant with his favored pet as an ornament. 

A single kukri soared through the air and sank into Ifrit’s arm. Noctis materialized there a moment later, the other dagger gripped tightly in his hand as he slammed it down on the gem—missed the first time, cracked it the second; and as Ifrit swung ‘round and grabbed him, he shattered it. 

Another ugly roar of pain tore from Noctis as the fire god’s oversized hand crushed him, cracking ribs as the heat around him grew from unbearable to deadly. 

In a last ditch effort to free himself, he—against his better judgment—shattered another blizzara ampoule in his hand at point blank range. It forced Ifrit to loose his grip at least enough for him to kick his way free and fall to the ashen floor of the caldera. Again, he managed to toss his kukri and disappear behind the rocks to nurse his pain for the moment. 

The blast not entirely dodged as Ardyn was slowed by punctuated agony. Only for it to be added to by a burn upon his arm. It hurt and he nearly bit his tongue to keep Ifrit from the satisfaction of his screams, but he could push through and ignore it. The oppressive heat so close made him feel as though very lungs were alight in flames. 

Each cry that fell from Noctis’ lips was a failure on his part. A failure to adequately protect him even when in this instance his companion had made his own situation better. It was a shattering of metaphorical chains in his mind. The oppressive feel of the heavy weight of the final god who yet held covenant with him removed. Immediate relief flooded into his mind soothing the throbbing pain and replacing it once more with determination and seething rage.

Then he heard the near scream from his lover. Saw him having the very life crushed out of him. Blood roared and pulsed in his veins driving Ardyn forward from celebrating this break from Ifrit’s hold to latch into those very horns. 

“You will not harm him!” His voice was ugly and low as his blade tore through those pointed appendages breaking them with a loud crack that resounded through the caldera. Broken and splintered they fell before the Accursed darted away once more. 

Only then did he spare a glance to ensure of his lover’s condition; battered and wounded but alive. He wanted to berate him for interfering-- for getting himself injured as he did, but now was not the time. 

Already that split second of distraction cost him. A blast of fire that the Infernian gave out in his rage caught Ardyn in it before he was able to warp himself to safety. It was seering agony and burnt parts of his clothing off into ash, but he survived by darting away before being completely consumed. Pain no longer phased him now fueled by adrenaline as he was. He threw his own magic of magenta red in snaking tendrils towards the god. A diversion before launching himself forward with blade embedded deeply into the god’s side as he cleaved flesh. 

His laugh was just as maniac as they had been in the moments he slaughtered the Infernian’s mortal form. “Tell me Ifrit. How does it feel to know these are your final hours? That you will perish in a whimper!”

The Daemons inside of Noctis raged and screeched. He was not like Ardyn; they were not his to command or to merge and meld with. They did not work to heal him but to kill him; to strangle the light out of him to the very end. He pressed his hand against his aching ribs as he sought refuge in the honeycomb of the side of the caldera. He was likely spent now, there was little he could do but offer his final burst of light to destroy Ifrit's essence. 

"Come on Ardyn, you have to--" 

The cry as his horns were splintered and sundered was unexpected. He hadn't honed in on it; hadn't thought they were such a source of power. Noctis watched in horrified awe as the divine being clutched at his head, the bloodied stumps that protruded from them as Ardyn's sword tore into his flesh. He panted, vision darkening—not much left in him now, and Ardyn was struggling; the fire was consuming him. He knew he might not make it out alive and there was a small fear cropping up in the back of his mind. A wonder at how much of Ardyn's immortality might rely on the curse of Ifrit's Scourge. If the source of it was gone, then how would the smaller portion that was harbored in Ardyn's body fare? 

Noctis knew he had to act, but he also kept his promise of obedience. Not yet—even if Ardyn cried out. 

His hand was clutched into a fist, the ring of the Lucii digging in until it left a mark, began to cut in, began to make him _bleed_. The weight he could feel had to ground him. 

Ifrit dragged himself along the magma and ash as though bathing himself in fire would truly do anything. It could on a base level charge him in his element, but even this could not heal him fast enough. Black blood tainted in the Scourge, the scream of unseen, formless Daemons tore through the air. It splashed into the magma, hissing and sputtering as it burned away, the foul smell making the air heavy—the smoke torture on Noctis' already ailing lungs. 

"Damn you Ardyn, Curse you a thousand times. Monster! Murderer!" It was all Ifrit could do to howl and scream in his terror. Even now, he could not understand the approaching abyss of his own demise. An immortal who had never known what death meant could not fear it, only the unknown that was soon to swallow him. 

He laughed, black blood bubbling between his teeth. "He loves you, O' Fallen King. You may get what you want in ending me, but he will never, never kill you. You will suffer this darkness until the end of eternity." He goaded him as though speaking one final prophecy, fingertips clawing into the ash as he writhed in agony. 

With horns torn free and the Infernian’s fire growing hotter trying to dislodge the man whom caused him pain, Ardyn did not cease until his labor was done. His body was ravaged by flame, but he managed to toss his blade away from the ailing god to safety where he all but collapsed using his sword as a means to keep from meeting the heated ground. Breath came labored through lungs felt scorched by the dying god’s power. 

Names and titles meant as insult he only found strength in. He had heard them all in his many years as the Accursed. Once a great king now fallen from grace from the very same beings that Ifrit called himself one of. 

Eyes only narrowed at the Astral taunting him even as life was fleeing his form. Such an accusation that Noctis would not wish to end him when all was said and done. A promise had been made between them. Even if the Chosen loved him in return, it meant little. His life was to end by Noctis’ hand. It was the only means they had left between them for peace and rest. 

Strength he found to stand as all of his Royal Arms came to his side in shattering light. Floating, menacing, they whirled about his form as the power lifted him slightly into the air. Ardyn's face was partially burnt over one cheek and his lips, but still he cracked them into a smile that forced more blood from the surface.  
“See Ifrit this is where you are wrong. Where you have always been so misguided. You know so little of humanity and mortals. When the time comes we will be the end of each other no matter what feelings exist between us. And you-“ He laughed even if the sound was odd to ears. “-you will never have him!” 

"You will fail! You can't save him now, Ardyn. It's already too late! Look at him." A cold reedy laugh made the mountain tremble as Ifrit managed another burst of flame. He knew what was coming as the Royal Arms manifested before him, their glint tainted but still undeniably—light. The light of kings that could never fully be squelched in Ardyn's rib cage. How he hated it, that his perfect darkness hadn't been enough to drown it entirely even all these years later. 

Ardyn's raised hand then then came to point in Ifrit's direction. The Royal Arms all chased after the direction given, skewering Ifrit upon each one in rapid succession over and over again. Flesh cleaved off, limbs slowly agonizingly hacked away until Ardyn could feel the damage imparted to him by flames finally catching up to adrenaline and rage. He was far enough away, and Ifrit weakened. 

"He is mine—you are mine. How _dare you_ — _ **Ardyn**_ \--!" His voice became a horrific shriek of a thing, a cacophony of Daemons in their death knells as one after another, the blades of the line of Lucis pierced is divine body, and black blood stained the floor of the volcano's caldera. 

“Oh _Noct_ \--” Ardyn called out to his lover in a singsong tone to come rid the world at last of tormentor of his existence. 

Only then did he allow himself to collapse upon his knees to watch. 

Noctis' mind raced as he watched, desperate to stay focused long enough to complete his task—no matter what, Ifrit had to be stopped here and now. He didn't give himself time to think too long about what Ardyn had shouted—about Ifrit never having him; there were things he didn't know and didn't understand, but now he had to admit that there was something that had changed in Ardyn to be nearly unrecognizable. He was doing this to protect him, and it wasn't just a matter of his own selfish interest anymore, was it? 

He wasn't ready; was never ready to think about such things. Instead, he used the kukri he treasured to carry himself across the distance in a burst of crystalline light. He raised his hand, the unnatural flame of Holy manifesting forth as the glinting light of the crystal began to fill the air, creep up his arm and into the skin of his face as it cracked and burned beneath the force of the energy he served as a conduit for. The Daemonic energy inside of him screamed and howled—it felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out and then, in some awful last ditch effort, Ifrit tore his arm free (and most of its flesh) in an attempt to swat at him. 

Noctis skidded back in the ash with all the grace he had learned years ago, and slammed his fist (and the ring) into the fine ashen dust beneath him. The light of Holy raced along the ground in a straight line with a speed almost incomprehensible by the mortal eye-- and burst Ifrit into a shower of light, screams echoing far into the valley below as though the mountain itself cried out. His last bit of strength brought him to Ardyn's side, trying to find a place to hold onto that didn't look painful. 

Not once did Ardyn tear his gaze from the sight before him etching it into his memory for however long he had left in this wretched existence. There existed a genuine smile gracing his features. Those screams but music still to his ears as the god whom had tormented and plagued his immortal life was finally erased from Eos. He chuckled darkly, but coughed near the end of the sound from the ache in his lungs. This mortal body was so inconvenient at times.

True to form Ifrit had fought against the fate that had awaited him until the very end. Even an attempt to turn Noctis against the light and into a creature not too unlike him. A flash of blue-white light brought his lover to his side so weakened now that the Scourge found a foothold more into his soul. 

“Noct.” His name said in hints of concern as Ardyn watched the pathogen visibly try to overtake him. Shaken from the image when the command was given. He tugged the small fire-red crystal into being; the last of Ifrit left in this world. Pressed it into Noctis’ hand to sever the last tie of magic the god would have over the Scourge warping his lover even now.

"The shard. Give it to me now before I run out of strength." He said in a rush of breath, sclera beginning to go black as the Scourge worked its way to the surface, fighting with the diminished light of the crystal. 

With a burst of white-hot pain, the shard was gone; Ifrit’s chance of returning to the mortal world severed from him forever. Noctis crumbled into a sitting position and dragged in several ragged breaths, trying not to look at the mess of burns and lacerations that Ifrit had left Ardyn. He’d be fine. He’d heal, right? But this didn’t look the same; didn’t look right at all—and he let out a gurgle of a sound that wasn’t even human anymore as his face was cupped by gentle hands, forehead (too hot, damp with blood) resting against his. 

Once the shard shattered into brilliant light, Ardyn wasted little time drawing Noctis’ forehead to press against his own. They were out of time. Hands cupped the Chosen’s cheeks as he brought the light to surface fighting against the daemons trying to heal his broken body. Words muttered in Ancient Lucian as he pulled and tugged at the daemons within Noctis. No barrier existed between them and his magic; a welcome relief. Darkness summoned forth from the Chosen’s body to be contained within the Accursed’s vessel and pleasant it did not feel. 

Familiar incantation intoned, and Noctis felt the creeping, unnatural sensation of something squirming under his skin. He trembled, faltered under Ardyn’s hands even as he felt the Daemonic presence itself being drawn out of him as poison from a wound. 

Black blood dripped from his eyes and mouth as the light ridded Noctis of the affliction. Ardyn’s teeth gritted, eyes closed, and eyebrows furrowed. It was never an easy process, and the more he took in the more the slumbering horde fought and protested within too small a cage. This Scourge was different than his own. Struggling more than others. The fallen king was forced to sever the connection when even his fingernails ached and pained with his blood pooling at the edges. He hoped it would be enough. 

And so the battle inside his mind began anew as he, the light, and the darkness fought for supremacy within. No longer was his body healing itself. Now turned to bringing the new residents into the fold of the many. He collapsed against his lover head twitching as this fight was conducted within his mind and soul.

“He’s dead. It’s over.” Well not entirely—there was still the Draconian to deal with, but the bulk of their suffering was over. Ifrit could torment them no longer.

 

For the first time in millennia, Ardyn was free—or at least as free as he could be. He would no longer be bound to Ifrit’s awful whims, no longer subjected to his ulterior motives and schemes. Noctis felt relief with his pain, with the agony of the light burning inside of him brightly in an attempt to burn the rest of the scourge and its traces within him out of existence.

 

Now was not the time nor the place for that, and he had to reign it back in. Not until he’d summoned and bound the Lucii to their ring and—Still Noctis had no desire to think about that ending that Ardyn so longed for. He smoothed Ardyn’s hair—course from the places that had been singed, though it was as wild as ever. Fitting.  

Noctis knew he was struggling. They both were—and the floor of the now unstable volcanic caldera was probably not the best place to take their rest but what other choice was there, until Ardyn recovered?  

He would, wouldn’t he? 

 

“I’m here. Ardyn, can I do anything? Anything to help?” Though the scourge’s source had been drawn out of him, it would be some time before he recovered entirely. The extensive damage to his body would take some time to repair, even with this—the best healer there was—at his side to tend to him. Eyes shifted, searching the area in the darkness as though hoping there would be something to help him decide what to do. 

 

Recovery would come if the horde inside of him was not too busy shrieking and writhing in force with the light, all an aching pressure that permeated to his very bones. A reminder of the too real fact that he had countless harbored within a small vessel never meant to contain more than one soul. The light would press and fight against the darkness as it always had. His own not nearly as corruptible as the one possessed by the Chosen. No, Noctis’ power was a split version of what the Astrals blessed the fallen king with so long ago. 

His will would struggle to put the newest souls into their place however reluctant they were. Though it left him in a bind. So long as the Daemons did not quiet and reach an uneasy truce with his light and fractured soul, none of it would heal his ailing body. A fact known to him the moment he started to draw the Scourge from his lover’s body. 

Even still in a broken vessel Ardyn found reason to smile; for the Infernian would torment and plague him no further. His head shifted to press against Noctis’ neck taking in the feel and scent of him still alive-- and more importantly-- forever safe from the clutches of a petty god. “There is… naught you can do.” Nothing he would ask of him even as the Accursed felt his body giving out under such strain. 

However, he could not be brought to care of it. He reveled instead in their victory bathed in the blood of a dead god with only one more that awaited judgement. “And he can never have you now.” It was faint and soft the kiss he pressed into Noctis’ pulse as was the small bite of teeth that followed. Had he the energy to spare Ardyn would have bestowed a mark. As it was he grew silent, listening to his own ragged, wheezing breaths. The edges of his vision were darkening. A sign he knew that it would not be long before the lack of healing took its toll. The horde still hissed and spat and fought inside of him. Ifrit’s brand of Scourge was taking far longer than he cared for to quiet its rage and submit to the will of its new master. 

Eyes closed in an attempt to push focus and effort to the task. Even in death the Infernian’s last echoes gave him grief as if a last cry of that ridiculous Astral was reaching beyond his fresh grave. Too distracted he was by the small scale war for his soul to put effort into keeping himself alive-- for what would he have to fear of another small temporary respite from the mortal plane?

Gone was the incessant need to try to make the fight against Ifrit not about him. Noctis didn't care; he couldn't think about anything for long save for the fact that the one he loved was suffering. He made sure he had a good grip on him, held him against his chest and tried not to think about the state of his skin. There was so much black—black blood, black rising to the surface of pallid skin that was so white it was nearly translucent where it wasn't burned. 

He stroked his hair further, drawing in painful breaths of his own In an attempt to calm himself, but it wasn't working very well. Noctis searched himself for the resolve he'd felt at the beginning. Something, anything. All he could find was his heart breaking, the knowledge that he had found in Ardyn something he'd never had in his earlier life. Understanding. Something more than just friendship or service. An equal. He knew it was messed up, and that making sense of it to his friends wouldn't be easy but now there was no denying it—and he knew what he saw in Ardyn's eyes, in the way he touched him. 

To think that it could be returned, not unrequited—but they were just to go and die? It was too much. 

He felt the life going from him; had experienced it before and tried to remember that Ardyn couldn't die. But what if his curse was bound to Ifrit? What if the reason he wasn't healing, only oozing that blackness everywhere was because the source of his immortality had been severed? What if it had simply been Ifrit all along-- 

The possibility of losing him here and now; in the moment when they had come so close to absolution was unbearable. Noctis began to weep, despite the agony it caused him as the sobs tore through his damaged lungs. He cradled Ardyn's head and shoulders against his chest so that he might've looked like he was only sleeping, if not for the grievous injuries all over him. 

"Please wake up, Ardyn. Damn you, I will never forgive you if you stop short now. Not now." He muttered, even though he knew that the man was no longer there to hear him. 

"Come back to me okay? Please live... just a little more." Just to spite the damned gods. 

Noctis found himself looking up to the walls of the caldera as though searching for dawn. He tried not to look at the twisted corpse nearby, burnt by holy to almost just bones save for a few foul, recognizable fleshy parts—and he closed his eyes as though willing it all away. 

Ardyn lingered in his mortal body long enough to feel Noctis pulling him close in desperation as if the touch alone could beckon his soul to stay in a shattered body. It would not be enough, but the gesture could be found touching never the less. Noctis was safe now and if fortune favored them he would heal from the Scourge without further intervention. The Accursed had nothing more he could give, least until the imbalance in his soul came to equilibrium once more. 

A minute shifting of his head to feel the warm of his lover before his breath slowed and his heart ceased. Where he would enter that in-between state to pull the bits and pieces of Daemons together into a cohesive whole bent entirely to his will. Determination would keep him from falling into their howling, snarling clutches. 

What both were unaware of was the presence drawn from the aether of the heart of the star at the demise of the last of his kin. Bathed in a mortal form suited in the armor of the dragoons of old, Black hair soothed back to form what could be horns though lacking the sharp, hard points. Golden rings encased each one, echoing a look of tribal societies long before the time of even Solheim. It was in this form he appeared, gazing with tilted head over the remnants of the Infernian. Unfortunate. _He had been warned_. 

It was then and only then that Bahamut turned to face the Chosen King and the Immortal Accursed wrapped in an embrace. Keen blue eyes gave the scene some disdain, but still he walked forward, unafraid of two immortals so weakened, one trapped in temporary death which suited him. His poisoned words would be unable to further pollute Noctis’ mind for the moment. 

His voice deep and authoritative lacked most of the nuance of emotion behind it, but altogether different than the sound that escaped from the true form he possessed. A messenger would not do here. A calculated risk, but certain he was of Noctis’ inability to render true harm onto him as he was now. He was, after all, far stronger than his dead brethren. “He can not aid you. His words are falsehoods. The fallen aided in spreadding ever choking darkness onto the world... Yet you remain by his side O’ Chosen. Made you were to place an end to his reign. Why now do you seek to further his cause, a blight wrought upon the world?”

The weeping and shaking kept Noctis distracted. He did not notice Bahamut until he spoke. It felt like it had been a long time since he’d seen him– but here he was, his divine captor, daring to show his face and speak with him. That was something else. 

Hiccupping and straining, he ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, wiping away still grey-tinted tears that were flowing more cleanly now—he hated being this vulnerable, not like Bahamut hadn’t seen it; hadn’t known him crying out and convulsing from the heat of the crystal’s light settling into his body, warping him and changing the composition of his very bones. He remembered being watched, as though that gaze that mirrored his own could somehow nurture. There was nothing human in it at all, only the unyielding logic that a being who knew not the price that he demanded from others. 

He remembered the words still: many sacrificed all for the king.

He’d never asked for that. For any of this. He and Ardyn had both been pawns. 

Rage bubbled up in his mouth, but he was far too weak to think about throwing himself upon the visage of the Draconian now. 

“You’re so blind, Bahamut. Your revelation… that is the real falsehood here. That is the real injustice.” Noctis’ teeth gritted and he buried his face in Ardyn’s hair for a moment in search of strength, his scent mixed with that of brimstone and fire. He was starting to go cold, but Noctis couldn’t bear to let go. Not yet. 

“You’re wrong if you think he’s leading me astray. I won’t let anyone lead me anywhere anymore. _I’m_ making this choice, and you’re the only one who has to pay a price.” He spat. 

Noctis was sure that now, Bahamut could probably overpower him. What if he tried to take the ring? Had enough of the crystal’s power been shed into him in order for him to still be able to complete their task? He didn’t know if he wanted to find out. He drew in a breath, eyes focused on the form in front of him. He’d fight if he had to. Noctis would protect himself and the body of his beloved like a wounded animal if it came down to it. Now he feared nothing but this; losing the chance at this last battle.

“There is no injustice. He chose his path long ago. He who must be erased from this world for the good of all... The light will not return so long as he exists.” That was the absolute truth. Bahamut had known this since the Crystal’s rejection of the fallen king now held in the arms of the King of Kings. It was not too late to turn the fates of the world back so long as the Draconian existed within the world of Eos. He was alone among the gods now, but he had been alone for millennia in slumber. 

This fate now would be no different if only the Chosen could be motivated to rid himself of the viper he kept in his midst now. “O Chosen you are the one with sight unseeing to the lies. He is not a creature capable of what you hope,” For Ardyn to him was polluted and corrupted completely surely as the black ichor that dripped even now from his body. 

Unlike Noctis Bahamut knew the truth of it. The Immortal Accursed would return to his body given enough time and energy. If the power had existed within him, he would destroy that damnable creature here and now, the one whose honeyed words had corrupted this Chosen down a darker path: One he was never meant to venture down. 

“Hope…” What he hoped? There was no hope. Bahamut didn’t understand that. “I don’t hope for anything. And we’re going to die either way. I made that promise—I swore to him his absolution. The only change in the plan is that you’re going to be joining us.” 

Tempted he was to take the Accursed’s body from the Chosen, but where would he dispose of him? Surely not within his realm. Ardyn would return and undoubtedly find his way back to the one bound to him by his revelation. “No more chances shall be afforded. You would forsake the star for one so corrupted? Forsake all the people who sacrificed themselves for the king?”

Noctis bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile that would’ve made Ardyn proud. Bahamut seemed to be under the impression that he planned on choosing between two options. That was not the case. He and Ardyn had embraced the nihilistic eventuality of all that would come to pass, and had taken the destiny foisted upon them to make it their own. More to soothe himself than anything, he stroked the mop of auburn curls that rested against his chest. Still he refused to move, as though he would not afford Bahamut any chance to try to remove Ardyn’s corpse from his care. He would wait. Even if he was scared; he knew Ardyn couldn’t die—not if Bahamut was still so concerned about what he was doing and what he wasn’t. 

“Without Ifrit though… there is hope. I bet you didn’t think about that,” He snipped. Bahamut didn’t seem to want to fight, but Noctis wasn’t risking it. 

“Leave me. Your words mean nothing to me, just like they did for ten years droning on in the crystal. I won’t be brainwashed by you. I won’t let you spoon-feed me with your side of the story and nothing else.” Never again. 

Noctis was certain that anyone who had endured what he had at the hands of Bahamut; the isolation, the fever dreams and thinly veiled threats—that they would’ve emerged from a decade long imprisonment prepared to accept the embrace of death. Noctis was lucky to find a different embrace even more welcoming. At least the dragon’s brethren were gone; the world already rid of their meddling. Now it was only him, Noctis’ personal tormentor that remained. 

He wondered if he knew what kind of horrors Ifrit had used to break, twist, and destroy Ardyn—if he knew it wasn’t just some chance thing that he had fallen so fully and completely. It was engineered. The six had no one but their own to blame in these matters. The king of kings afforded one more venomous glance to the beast clad in a human man’s skin and turned his eyes back down to Ardyn’s pale face, still smattered with signs of the scourge… but no signs of the pathogen within him stirring to heal. 

“Come on…” The whisper was soft, only intended for them. 

Debate Bahamut did upon this impasse reached. Unfortunate that the Chosen would not waver in his conviction now. The Accursed’s words had polluted him far, far too much. An outcome he had not foreseen had come to pass, but he would not shutter out of the world quietly or in the throes of screams. If need be he would imprison them both separated and apart-- unable to complete the task. He may not be able to kill them, but the Draconian could deny them what they sought. 

The last god was left with little choice. In his hand he summoned a crystal shard deep blue-violet in color, his gaze settling upon this King of Light. “O’ Chosen you are no more. Fallen as he is fallen. Blessing of the six no longer deserved.” With a flicker of magic the light of the shard withered and died. He severed the connection between god and mortal, just he had done to Ardyn all those years ago. No covenant existed between them now. No way to summon the dragon from the aether he disappeared back into. His voice lingered in the wind. “You choose to doom the realm of our star. Those you cherish, too will end as the star dies.” 

Noctis let out a dry laugh as Bahamut began to speak again, the realization of what was about to happen like scalding water thrown on him. He straightened up a bit, though his grip on Ardyn’s body never shifted. He curled his lip, eyes sharp in their sadness–

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare run from this, you coward! A coward is all you are, all you’ve ever been. Damn you, and if there is a hell, I hope you find your siblings there when I send you to join them!” He shouted, trembling with the rage that tore at his weakened body. 

But there was no stopping it—Bahamut still stood as he was, a god; it was his choice to give his favor and to take it. 

He had no idea how to reach Bahamut without the covenant to pull upon, and he wondered if he even had enough strength left; if he hadn’t already spent too much of the crystal’s light fighting the others or—needing to be repaired multiple times as he raged against the gods. As Bahamut took his leave, Noctis sat seething in his rage, nearly unaware of how unstable the place where he rested had become. 

It took him some time to realize that they could not stay there—and he didn’t know the tricks that Ardyn did to slip between the cracks in the worlds. He had to move him, or there was a good chance that the geological instability could swallow them both. They didn’t have time for the ungodly time death-by-incineration would probably take to fix. Repairing damaged organs was one thing. Full reconstruction? Noctis didn’t even want to think about it. 

Despite his exhaustion, he struggled until he could get Ardyn’s dead weight situated on his back, long limbs draped uselessly over his shoulders—and began the daunting, slick path down the mountain. He was convinced he was going to end up with a bruised or busted tailbone after slipping and sliding down the lava tubes that seemed to be the only way out from up there—but he made it, and it was better than trying to go back the long way. There was no way he could’ve climbed those cliffs without resorting to warping, expending even more energy that he didn’t have. 

By the time he made it back to the trail, he knew he wasn’t going to make it any further than the outpost. If the mountain erupted completely, destabilized without Ifrit’s power—much like Shiva’s death had permanently warped the climate of everything surrounding her corpse—they probably wouldn’t make it. 

When he could finally get Ardyn into bed—cold now, and preserved only by the scourge inside of him, he knew—Noctis all but collapsed. His body had its own healing to do, and he only managed to stay awake a little longer, his dread and terror swirling in his mind— _would he have to start thinking about digging a grave when he woke up_?– Without Ifrit's curse, he didn't know. There was no way to be sure, and the uncertainty was nearly enough to keep him from passing out from exhaustion. Perhaps if there had been more tears to cry left in his body, but for the moment it seemed there were not.


	17. Amatus Mea ; Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a good hunk of NSFW! 
> 
> Ardyn and Noctis can finally relax in the aftermath of the battle with Ifrit, but Noctis lets his true thoughts slip out in the heat of the moment.

The Scourge would not begin to heal the host so long as the light within and the will fought for a balance. It would take many hours before the process was complete. Slower now that Ardyn was drifting in and out of his mortal shell unable to make it draw breath and the wretched realm of limbo. The plague residing in him still did little more than preserve his corpse preventing decay and all of the unfortunate consequences that followed after life left a mortal coil. 

A day or more would pass before the wisps of black smoke began to work, mending battered flesh and bone. The worst came first. The wounds and injuries that prevented life from returning to Ardyn’s body stitched together. Another six hours before signs of life returned. Slow, but steady breaths of a man in sleep brought movement to his chest; the beating of a heart beneath. Noctis would not have to wait much longer after life returned before the Accursed opened his eyes to the world once more.

Searching. Ardyn did not care about the state of his being; mental or otherwise. None of it mattered. His gaze shifted about the room with only one thought upon his newly awakened mind: Where was Noctis? Had his efforts bore results? Was he healing from the Scourge? The most important of all lay in if his lover was safe. 

The corner of his vision caught sight of that which he sought. The familiar image of Noctis sitting close by. Body still healing and sore shifted up so that Ardyn may rest his head upon his companion’s shoulder. Ragged breath pulled from lips silenced to speak. “Noct.”

 

It was from far away that he thought he heard his name called. He realized that he must’ve fallen asleep sitting there, arms crossed as he leaned back against the dusty headboard. Tired blue eyes snapped open, and he drew in a breath as he searched, disoriented for a moment until he realized that it was Ardyn speaking to him. 

He’d have thanked the gods if there were any left to thank. 

“You’re awake.” The bitterness returned as soon as he spoke, remembering just how much he’d failed—how badly– 

“I… We’re… I don’t know how we’re going to finish this. It seems impossible.” His voice was weak. “Bahamut he… The covenant is…”

Unaware of what transpired during his extended ‘nap’ Ardyn immediately got the sense that something occurred to upset his lover. His mind was slow to wake and thinking on the possibilities when so few words were offered to him was a monumental task. A few minutes he would need before he could piece together jagged thoughts into something more coherent. 

For now he allowed himself to absorb the reality of their situation that he knew. Ifrit was dead. He was freed-- and he carefully maneuvered himself to take a look at Noctis sitting up only partially to stare into those dusky blue eyes free of the signs of black. Relief. Pointed, _blessed_ relief. His head came to settle back upon the Chosen’s shoulder once more, his mind sated in the fact that Noctis was safe and recovering from Ifrit’s Scourge. 

Kiss he pressed into his lover’s collarbone. The last machination of the Infernian failed. He offered small caresses to the King of Kings. Whatever had shaken him so one truth would always remain: Noctis responded well to affections and attention. They knew each other so well now; a bond between King and Oracle. “Simple. As we have always planned.” His drawl more pronounced and husky with sleep and healing. 

The Accursed pushed himself upwards kissing at the corner of Noctis’ lips before settling again, though his hands still touched and moved, tracing his jawline, his neck, and massaging into Noctis’ side. “Noct. You will need to explain to me more clearly what transpired. Least you forget I am more advanced in age than you.” A jest he made towards the saying that hearing was likely the first to go. His hearing was fine, but he would drag the words out of Noctis if he needed to. 

“Tell me so I may think upon how best I can repay the Draconian.” 

The honeyed tone was obvious—familiar. Safe. Noctis couldn’t express how glad he was to hear it, and it helped shake off some of the awful tension he’d built up while waiting for him to awaken. Noctis let himself be drawn in a little closer, and he rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his hand. He was, surprisingly grateful for being awake. For a moment—all of that which he had been prepared to dump on Ardyn at the drop of a hat drifted away. He buried his face in the crook of the older man’s neck and took several deep breaths, as though the oxygen so far away from him was simply not as good—and fell silent for several long moments. 

Finally, Noctis nodded and lifted his head to look into amber eyes, smoothing a few messy strands of hair from his lover’s face. 

“He showed up. Acted all high and mighty about how–” He stopped. Bahamut had hinted at the idea that Ardyn could never love him, could never return those feelings but… Noctis had seen it. He chose not to point out the elephant in the room. 

“He told me you were deceiving me, and all that. Tried to get me to change my mind, y'know. The usual crap.” Noctis lowered his head again, feeling the raw terror he had experienced in those moments threaten to well up again. Breathy, against the curve of Ardyn’s shoulder, he spoke: “He broke the covenant but that—that—I really thought he was… gonna take me back there. To that empty place… in the crystal…” 

Noctis shook his head and tried to regain his strength; his resolve. He realized then that he had begun to hate the idea of looking weak in front of Ardyn. They had chosen to face this together—but the strain was continuing. He felt that upholding that was all he really wanted; and it had led to perhaps wanting some measure of Ardyn’s approval—how strange. 

“Sorry. I’ve… been sitting here wondering if you were even gonna wake up at all without Ifrit’s curse… y'know?” Noctis straightened up a bit and pushed his hand back through his hair. 

Fingers intertwined and stroked rather gently _for a beast_ \-- into Noctis’ hair. Leave the man alone with his thoughts and he appeared to worry far too much, but Ardyn would listen in patient silence. No matter the words from the Draconian, he was still a feeling creature even if he could not be fully called a man anymore. A monster would be fitting term for what the gods had made him into. Only recent events had brought the feeling he harbored for Noctis to light. His weakness he could turn into strength and now Ifrit lie dead. The only being that could have used such knowledge against him. 

He read in-between the lines as some tension eased into the room. Both lovers aware of how the other felt, but both either too stubborn or few of words to express it in an open manner. Atmosphere quickly turned to fear as the Chosen sought comfort against him. 

Chuckle fell from his lips in slight amusement. Reassurance he gave in touches and caresses to Noctis’ face, hair, and slender neck. “Oh you need not concern yourself with whether or not I would awaken.” He offered an upturn of the left corner of his lips into a partial smirk. “It is only you whom would be allowed to bring about my end after all.” The only one he would grant the privilege to. 

Noctis was pulled into his arms and down to lay upon the bed. An oddly intimate position but none of it bothered the Accursed. The lilt to his voice though edged in exhaustion and crackling breath lowered to dangerous and serious tone etched upon its rough edges with affection. “He no longer has claim to you.” One arm held his lover in place pinned, back-to-chest. His words whispered into the Chosen’s ear, his other hand left free to roam and touch as he pleased; over Noctis’ side, his chest, his neck. 

“You are mine. And just as the Infernian can not take you from my arms neither can Bahamut hiding in the divine realm.” Roughness of his stubble pointedly brushed across Noctis’ bare neck. “You are mine to enjoy, not his.”

Being reminded that it was his role to end Ardyn had somehow become almost a source of comfort. Until Noctis was ready—or until Ardyn demanded it of him, Ardyn was **there** with him. He wouldn’t be going anywhere. It was in his hands. Even with Bahamut lurking around, their fates were finally in their own hands at least to some extent. 

That alone brought a sense of relief welling up in him. As Ardyn pulled him down onto the dusty comforter with him, Noctis turned and laid languidly over him and gently cupped the elder king’s face. This intimacy that would’ve been foreign to him not even a month ago now fed into the strength that propelled him forward. There was hope in that, if nothing else: that his last days wouldn’t be horrible. 

“Yours…” Noctis both loved and loathed hearing those words. He blinked slowly and gazed down at Ardyn once more, his lashes dark against his pale cheeks—but there was more color returning by the hour. 

“I should argue. I should run in the other direction. Should have from the beginning. But… I won’t.” He licked his lips dryly, trying to stifle his hammering heart. 

“I can’t. I want this too much. Our revenge, and… you.” It was a difficult thing to say aloud. 

Noctis had come to understand; to accept the monster and the man. The moments of lucidity were more than worth it to him. He knew most of Ardyn’s more heinous tactics. It wasn’t that he could outsmart him so much as it was that he could withstand his twisted barbs without allowing them to pierce his armor. He could separate himself when necessary, make himself immune to the things Ardyn did when he lashed out. 

“D-don’t… say anything. Damn it, I’m _embarrassing_ myself.” Almost childish in his embarrassment, Noctis dipped his head down, forehead resting lightly against Ardyn’s sternum. 

He sighed, realizing that they were filthy and probably reeked of brimstone but—it was over. The hard part, anyway. Ifrit was gone and they could look forward. But… what was forward? 

An entirely different matter now Noctis gave voice to his feelings harboring for Ardyn. Ardyn found it strangely endearing despite it all. A mannerism he had come to know as distinctly belonging to Noct. Their state of cleanliness did not bother him for the moment finding himself far too lazy and... _content_? A strange feeling altogether especially that it was brought out by another human being, well mostly _one_. He and Noctis were something more now with the blight of immortality hanging over them.

A shiver down his spine at Noctis’ words knowing the Chosen knew whom he belonged to now. Ardyn would suffer no less. A hum he gave at being told to keep quiet. He certainly would not obey such a command. “So you care for me? Even I dare say _love me_. Oh Noct…” His name drawn out as his hands kept touching now edging underneath a shirt half burnt and covered in soot from the volcano. Remnants of a god they had, together, freed the world from.

Fingertips pushed the garment upwards so access could be gained to bare flesh. Caresses and slight bite of nails along the Chosen’s lower back as though a motion to further soothe him. This man meant to be his end, and now something more. “It is entirely unwise to linger by my side from all accounts.” Lips curled back to reveal a smirk as he urged Noctis to look at him by a well placed hand under his chin drawing him from hiding in his chest.

Ardyn’s gaze was consuming and told how nothing else mattered in this moment save for Noctis. Overwhelming it was and had he not held onto to his lover forcing him to look, the Accursed knew he would turn away. “But you enjoy the inherent danger all the same, don’t you?” His thumb traced along Noctis’ bottom lip before gently prodding into his mouth.

Even if Noctis revealed his feelings by accident Ardyn was not a man so forthcoming with his words. Always mingled or implied as it had always been since he was a mortal man. “And I would enjoy you in no other fashion.”

Words were sealed with urging Noctis those few scant inches between them for a kiss. Possessive and affectionate allowing the moment to consume him. Affections and love he bore now freely given even if tainted by the broken, shattered psyche. He only withdrew to nip and bite at where he knew Noctis had once had a wound upon his lip.

Though the deity of fire had fallen at their hands, it was as though in some nature he was present—perhaps a romantic thought of the primal nature of fire from ages long past; before he was a twisted version of himself. Once, he had been the heat of love and passion, or so they had said—and that was what was surely center stage now. 

Noctis wasn’t sure what to think. That Ardyn had said it so brazenly was a bit disconcerting. His head spun with the thoughts it stirred up; too raw. If nothing else, Noctis had always preferred to deal with such things at arm’s length or perhaps more accurately—through the soft, downy haze of denial. He turned away from anything that was too strong for his taste. But this was rather unavoidable… wasn’t it? 

They had been together plenty of times in the most carnal nature of the sense. It had been so easy, like slipping into a new set of clothes that slowly became more familiar. Noctis hadn’t even noticed it happening and now it was too late. He blinked slowly, casting his gaze aside before he met Ardyn’s eyes. It wasn’t easy. They were burning into him—all the heat of a wildfire seeping into his skin. The look alone was enough to send goosebumps coursing over his skin, breath hitching in his throat. 

“Thought I said not to _say_ it–” He sighed, exasperated but if only for the embarrassment of how fast his heart was beating. 

With Ardyn’s hand under his chin he couldn’t really get away, and so he had to face it. Though—he did close his eyes as he gathered his courage. Just as he tried to find it in him to speak, Ardyn’s thumb pressed against his lips and then he was pulled into a kiss that left him squirming and breathless. 

There was plenty he might’ve said, but it was lost on Ardyn’s lips with a few soft groans amidst the mingling roughness of their facial hair and warmth of breath. It was impossible to hold himself back, to reign himself in when so much had come to pass—and it had been quite a while, all of it spent in much less enjoyable suffering. 

“–Want to feel you everywhere.” And forget about everything that Ifrit had done to him in that feverish haze. “So what if I love you? I might as well.” It was almost a challenge; a most inelegant manner of confession, though it was what it was. Noctis squirmed in Ardyn’s grasp, his hand curling through his hair where it fell against his face, pads of fingertips moving to cradle his cheek. 

The command not to say anything had spurred Ardyn to bring it to light if only because he knew of the reaction he would procure from his lover. He did not find himself disappointed for it was a truly exquisite shade of crimson that peppered his cheeks. To see him so uncomfortable a delight within itself that drove forward the desire he felt now for the Chosen. Parts of a jagged mind somehow allowed a fondness and affection to exist for this companion of his through the understanding he offered.

His body was still healing and exhausted, but a heat in his blood for Noctis stirred him into a more aware state enough to wish to claim what was his. Wash away the filth and memories Ifrit had instilled into his lover. “And who am I to deny his majesty of his most pointed desires?” He did not shy from or falter in the face of the love Noctis gave to him so freely. He reveled in it in kind and in his maniac obsession with the man-- an obsession ignited ever since the word _Chosen_ was first muttered in his presence.

“Some would say your love for me is a sign of the completion of your fall from grace.” But Noctis would never be a fallen king in his eyes. Would he walk the paths of darkness with the Accursed? Certainly so, but Noctis had a light in him that would never be extinguished so long as Ardyn could help it. The touch given he leaned into as he always enjoyed the fingertips through his hair.

Deft fingers made quick work of Noctis’ shirt, brushing it aside after buttons were undone to reveal pale flesh underneath. He caressed and dragged his nails down each crease of muscle admiring his lover’s beauty all the same. Slowly Ardyn sat up, pulling his companion along with him. He whispered in heated breath against his lips. Eyes half lidded in a show of how he craved Noctis as his hands roamed. He replaced Ifrit’s touch and memory with his own so his lover would never again have to recall those moments in a distant magic haze.

A hand rubbed through the fabric of pants feeling out Noctis’ cock under his ministrations. “Oh I will have and enjoy all of you.” A chuckle dark and promising. “And find my enjoyment in your undoing.”

If Noctis had been able to see the pieces of shattered glass that were Ardyn’s psyche, his inner self, that still would not have stopped him from reaching in and searching for the light that he knew remained. The light and the dark could not be reconciled; but there was not one without the other, either. If he had had the time to think about it, he would’ve realized that really, he and Ardyn were agents seeking balance, while the Astrals wanted only to obliterate the dark with the light. 

Now, if there was anything holy left, he saw it as this; their union as the only thing that hoped to bring any kind of balance at all. 

He shrugged out of his shirt under Ardyn’s deft fingers, and arched his back a little. He gave him freedom to explore—it was after all like he said; he was all his. Anyone might have said it was sick and twisted, but for Noctis there was no better relief than to give up control; to allow Ardyn to use his body, to take from it something that wasn’t pain. Noctis had thought of himself as little more than a weapon with royal name and blood for most of his short adult life; aimed at the Empire, and now at Ardyn. In Ardyn’s arms, he was so much more than that–

“Yeah… All of me, huh?” No longer did he care about the state of all of this. He was where he wanted to be, inhibitions cast aside. 

Ardyn’s shifting urged him forward to settle over his lap, straddling him as delicate fingers pressed against him through his clothes. Noctis made no attempt to hide his enjoyment. A soft hum fell from his lips as he arched into his beloved’s hand. 

“If I’m your prize, I guess I’ll give you whatever you want.” Noctis teased gently; there was of course, that ever present darkness—the knowledge that really, Ardyn could take it even if it wasn’t freely given. 

Noctis bit his lip and brought his hands to rest against Ardyn’s chest, pushing up against the tattered fabric that covered it. Expressing passion in words wasn’t terribly easy—but like this, it wasn’t bad at all. With his body, these things seemed to be clearer, seemed to make more sense. 

So sweet it was how the Chosen gave himself up to him so willingly. However slowly they had fallen into this together where feelings had taken root and blossomed within each of them until denial was no longer an option. An Astral had forced it out of Ardyn. Too late now to hide it and take it back when his lover clearly knew something more existed between them than a mere partnership. 

“A spoil of war perhaps would be a more apt term for you, Noct.” Devious smirk creased into his lips and face with mischief playing in those eyes. Hands made quick work of the belt upon Noctis’ pants as he spoke.   
“I did after all murder two forms of a god in your name.” And that is all Ifrit would be now; a memory of a creature Ardyn would not speak the name of. The Astral deserved no such respect or honors. 

Almost lazy, but pointed were his kisses trailed down the column of Noctis’ jawline and neck leaving behind red, bruised skin where teeth teased and taunted. Despite his love of a struggle, he did prefer a willing victim in his carnal pleasures; One he could gain freely from the man whom might own his heart in turn. The rest of the world could fall to rot and decay, but he would cherish Noctis. None would be allowed to bring him harm even as he hated the damnable treacherous bloodline he came from. 

Ardyn leaned into Noctis’ touch, a silent urging to remove the ruined garment from his shoulders. His pace slower due to recent waking from death, but all too eager he was to partake in the pleasures his lover’s body offered. Pants were tugged over hips just enough so he may more directly bring his partner to full attention with touches and strokes he knew by now Noctis favored. 

Teeth bore down hard into the juncture of neck and shoulder.

Foul. _Totally despicable_. Those were the things that most people would’ve thought at something like that—a war trophy, was he? But there was something about it that lit a fire in Noctis, and he shuddered under the heat of Ardyn’s mouth on his skin. 

He felt the throbbing of what would soon be bruises left behind by lips and teeth; wanted them to stay though they would not. As Ardyn’s hands pulled at his belt, and then the waistband of his slacks, Noctis obediently rose up on his knees a bit to let them slip down to his thighs though it strained the fabric a bit. Noctis wanted to see it; the pure, most raw nature of the desire that Ardyn felt for him. He would cement it into his memory and hold it as the thing that would drive him forward. 

Now partially bared before him, Noctis found that his inhibitions were less intact, and he leaned forward, hips shuddering as he pressed into his lover’s hand. Lips found the shell of Ardyn’s ear, and he pressed a couple of warm kisses there before speaking. “How do you want me? Your prize.”

A rare sort of acquiescence in Noctis who was so often stubborn and reticent. He offered himself willingly into Ardyn’s hands in whatever capacity he might desire. It took the effort of laying aside his pride, of disengaging from the intricate network of self defense he built through false pretenses and trying to pretend like he was more than what he was. Surrender—could be hard for any man, but for Noctis it was the clearest sign of his love he could offer. 

A nip at the Accursed’s earlobe, hot kisses trailed low along his jawline. 

“Take me… whatever, however you want. If I’m such a prize, prove it.” He purred lowly. 

It was clearly a challenge, and one that Noctis wouldn’t stand for being ignored. He could be just as demanding as Ardyn himself was, and it showed in that moment. Only then, did he lift himself up enough to shed his slacks and underwear, though they remained a bit tangled, clinging to one leg—not that it mattered. 

Hands calloused as if marked by their proficiency with a blade smoothed over the faint scars on Ardyn’s chest, nails raking lightly here and there as Noctis indulged himself in simply touching the elder immortal everywhere that he could reach. If Ardyn wanted him to stop or move, or do something else, he’d just have to demand it.

A state of being only the Chosen seemed to be able to bring out in him or even dare to. Gaze he kept sorely upon his lover watching in attentive desire as he pushed and tugged his pants down until he was bare as the day he was born. A heated breath he released and a low rumble in his chest of a groan. Even in the surrender Noctis gave, he did not cease to be that pushy submissive Ardyn knew him to be. He reveled in it, allowing it to set his mind to blaze with want, need, and that all encompassing desire for control. 

His eyes were half lidded as he offered his jaw to be kissed as Noctis pleased. Movement tickled and brought pleasant sensations to stubble that needed to be shaved. In a way he knew his lover’s acquiescence in this was but a way he showed his love and loyalty. A gift he would take and take from in an appreciation only the Accursed could give him. Allow the last chapter of their lives to be filled with a bit of amusement and feeling. 

He'd have felt relieved if he knew that now Ardyn understood this as one of the ways that he could show his feelings—without the struggle for words—but really, his mind couldn't focus long enough to really accept well... any of it. And he didn't want to. All he wanted were the jagged breaths that Ardyn's hands on him made pass his lips. The danger was still there as it always had been. Even if there was Good to be found in Ardyn's heart, he would never be something considered safe—and the King was perfectly fine with that. 

Those touches to his scars especially the nails applied brought a visible shiver in the immortal. A groan he gave and an obvious move into those nails. Another one of his vices exposed for Noctis to see, but this was not about making him come apart. It was about proving Noctis’ worth. Predatory intent flashed across his visage before he shoved Noctis down to the bed, quickly pinning him with a hand to his chest. Smirk graced the former Chancellor’s features taking in the sight of his lover like a beast set to devour its prey. 

Fucking _gorgeous_ —the slight vulnerability he got to notice as Ardyn sighed and groaned beneath his touches-- surely the scars there and on his back must be very sensitive, then. He would remember that for the future—something that was a detail not before really absorbed in their more carnal encounters. Something in all that had happened brought about some greater clarity that Noctis couldn't quite understand. 

“Such a prize you are. A king given to me as a gift in the aftermath of a long, drawn out war.” His hand trailed up Noctis’ chest gripping about his neck and applying just enough pressure to stifle his breathing. “I will lay ruin to you until no other can satisfy you like I.” Grip withdrawn only to pull a bottle out of the aether for him to use. 

A stifled sound left Noctis as he fell back on the old mattress—the smell of dust was swiftly forgotten as he lost himself in amber eyes, lips parted in a mockery of a gasp as hands roamed up his body, constricting both air and blood flow for a moment that made his heart pound. A soft little cry as Ardyn shifted, and he panted for a moment to catch up for what he had lost, only to blink blearily in the darkness at the sound he knew always accompanied something being pulled from the aether. He frowned, trying to puzzle it out—and then gasped when the cool slickness of fingers pressed for entry against him without warning. 

 

No time wasted before he was already preparing his lover with so little foreplay offered to him. For now his own state of attire could wait no matter how uselessly his burnt and bloodied clothes covered him. 

Ardyn watched him writhe underneath his touches curling his fingers enough to make the Chosen let out those noises he had come to love. It was not, however, enough. He lowered himself giving Noctis a devious smirk and half lidded close of his eyes. A kiss placed upon the king’s left knee delicate and entirely opposite of the demeanor the Accursed gave off in this very moment until he reached the tender area of his companion’s inner thigh. --And he bit into it as to leave a mark that would last longer than most. 

The sounds drawn from Noctis turned into a soft snarl, and he bit his bottom lip _hard_. It had... been a while. So much had happened—and now it felt like they were looking at each other in an entirely different light. Noctis was almost embarrassed, as if it were the first time Ardyn had looked at him like this, but a few more deep breaths calmed him, and he arched into the touch—sought more pressure from those familiar fingers curled inside of him with a greedy abandon. 

Maybe it was just in his head—but it made a warmth well up in him when Ardyn pressed a tender kiss to his bad knee; a warmth that made him relax further as heat colored his skin. Noctis reached down, fingertips pushing through Ardyn's hair and then back to brush over his shoulders—wherever he could find those thick ribbons of scar tissue that he now worshiped as the only holy thing he knew. 

"Oh, Ardyn--" There was no cry to any god on his tongue, only one name, only one thing. And he let out another keening cry, not caring if the sound carried—as teeth sank into his thigh and made his cock twitch with want. 

Such sweet sounds and pleas that came from his lover. His own name muttered in a prayer; for they would be the only gods left standing at the end of all of this. Even Bahamut would not be safe behind his hallowed walls of the realm; A realm Ardyn knew how to reach and venture into. A miscalculation on the part of the Draconian. Those thoughts were placed aside for the bigger prize laid out in front of him moaning and crying out in benediction.

Noctis’ fingertips brushed over the most sensitive of his scars bringing a gasp from his lips and a rare moan that Ardyn gave. He arched into the touch wanting more of the same. He growled into the mark he had just made running his tongue over the crimson droplets that left a tingling sensation upon his tongue from the Crystal light contained within. 

“You beg me so sweetly, your majesty. It would be so terribly wrong of me to deny what you so clearly want.” Noctis was prepared enough. One last press he gave along his lover’s pleasure point before withdrawing his fingers all together. Before he leaned up he ran his tongue along Noctis’ hardened length teasing him just a hair further. 

His shirt he then discarded; an open silent invitation that Noctis could continue to touch him as he liked. A show he made of leaning back, and unfastening his own pants just enough to free his erection, before stroking his own cock with the leftover lubrication upon his fingertips. “You should see yourself right now. It is a sight most exquisite. So flushed and wanting… your body in a slight tremble. It’s enough that I may just bring myself pleasure without taking it from you.”

But cruel he would not be and deny Noctis what he so clearly wanted from him. Instead his hands grabbed his lover by his hips pulling him forward roughly. One moved to shove Noctis’ leg into a better position before Ardyn gripped him and entered him in one fluid motion. He moaned at the sensation and gave little time before he began push in and out of his beloved Chosen with rough abandonment. 

A sharp sound mixed with a gasp as his lover’s tongue met his skin– and Noctis was lulled into a sort of trance as he watched Ardyn pull himself free of his pants. The king’s brow furrowed as he teased him, something that was a near threat—but he knew Ardyn couldn’t bear it. There wasn’t much time to think on it, as he was roughly dragged forward and his mind snapped to static as he pushed inside. 

A cacophony of soft curses and whimpers, he twisted and arched his back—but he only had so much freedom of movement with Ardyn taking such a position. He was in full control of their pace, and Noctis knew he was at his mercy. But… there was hardly anything new about that. He was of course, someone who most people took as being quite pushy; a bratty little prince he had been—but perhaps he only made a poor ‘pet’ to those who wanted their pets to roll over and play dead indefinitely. 

In this moment though, Noctis indulged in the ecstasy of relinquishing his control to Ardyn willingly. For this moment in time, all that he carried with him was gone. The burden melted away into his willing movements, glassy blue eyes staring up at Ardyn with a rare openness as though awaiting further instruction. 

But—the rough movements that would leave him sore caused more moisture to collect on his dark lashes. Noctis didn’t hide it, or restrain the lascivious moans and gasps produced. Slowly, he began to re-collect himself, and through a wicked grin, he said: “Tell me how I feel, Ardyn.” 

It was… oddly bold, almost as though he expected to be turned away or punished somehow for it. As far as Noctis was concerned, it was a win-win situation. 

He reached up, fingertips pressing into the elder immortal’s shoulders to draw him nearer. Further, he reached and groped in search of the myriad scars on skin—paid them special attention as he rolled his hips to meet the Accursed’s thrusts. 

Disobedient and spoiled King that lie beneath him even now defied and fought against him as he gave his body over to Ardyn. The Accursed claimed more than just his body, but his very soul and heart. Not what the Draconian would have in mind when he created that precious prophecy of his. 

Ardyn would enjoy the fruit of it none the less even if he had to take the pleasures from Noctis’ body. This was more than just conquest or revenge now that affection and a bit of admiration curled into the emotions he felt towards the Chosen. 

Ardyn hummed giving his lover a cocky, self-assured smirk. “Does His Majesty wish for praises hmm?” He reached between them, scratching nails against the mark upon his lover’s thigh in fleeting passing before the same hand moved to weave between raven locks. The Accursed tugged as he knew Noctis enjoyed hoping to bring about those tears of over stimulation. 

His mouth was about to descend to mark and claim that exposed throat when Noctis’ fingers caressed and touched the most sensitive of his scars. Sensation lost upon the surface of the ugly, marred flesh, but the areas of white surrounding each? He felt them more keenly than most anywhere else upon his body. Instead his action was to now moan into his lover’s neck. 

Almost did it push him over the edge with such a hurried pace he took pushing and thrusting in and out of Noctis’ body. Breath when not released in husky sounds came warm and hurried through his nose. “Fu-“ His tongue bit before the curse could slip between his lips. “-Noct!” He cried out keenly. 

In turn he had enough presence of his fleeting mind to trail his hand between their shifting bodies to stroke his lover’s cock. Even venturing further down to caress the rounded mounds of flesh beneath before moving his touch once more to his tip. If he was going to come apart, Noctis would be joining him.

This tangle of limbs; a kind of intimacy that wouldn’t necessarily be that with anyone else—but there was something in time spent, in repetition that brought new things to light; that taught you things about the one you were with. It was entirely different than the empty thrill of a one-night stand searched for in order to fill the emptiness or assuage the pain of his reality. Only with this devotion could he have found something so stunning as that which had gotten that reaction out of the Accursed. 

Hearing him cry out his name drew a moan and a shudder from Noctis. It hadn’t been his intention, but—he’d count it a happy accident. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think on it long as, Ardyn’s hands moved to draw him closer to the edge, and the friction alone was enough to nearly make him lose it. 

Noctis arched his back, lifting his hips just slightly as Ardyn moved over him. He was a bit afraid to try that again—drew his hand back to fist in the comforter beneath him instead as his body tensed and quivered; a wire pulled taught to break. He may have backed away from his onslaught for the moment, too bemused to do anything but writhe at his lover’s mercy. 

A sound of what was almost disgust—or disbelief. “You’re… _so_ … beautiful.” 

It was hard even at the best of times to get Noctis to clearly say what he was really thinking. This was maybe a bit much even for him. As sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes had fallen shut in the heat of the moment, unable to really properly focus anymore and; what point was there in holding back? They had time to do as they liked now. Bahamut would hide and wait on them—they could take the whole of Eos apart before the damned dragon would show his face. 

“I'm—m'close.” The strangled little gasp of a warning was little more than that, teeth gritted as his hips rolled up to meet Ardyn’s thrusts. It was a compromise; not a plea for permission, but giving the older between them the chance to stop—or challenge him—however he liked in the moment. 

Almost disappointed Noctis didn’t try to elaborate on that pleasure point of Ardyn’s he just found, but Ardyn wasn’t entirely certain he would tolerate it much more. The entire point was to claim Noctis-- not to expose the most sensitive parts of himself. A matter he would not mind if his lover cared to explore later. For now he would waiver between loving and loathing it. 

A smirk he gave despite the breathlessness he felt as his own orgasm fast approaching at such words. Self-assured as if the Accursed were more than aware of the fact he was still fair in face and body. Noctis was indeed an attractive man; something he had endeavored to make quite clear to him in Lestallum. 

Though in this moment he did not wish to impede Noctis in his tumble down the primordial cliff but rather help him along. After that last stunt his lover pulled Ardyn knew his own end was quickly upon him, and he did so love that gorgeous pleasure filled face the Chosen gave as he came undone beneath him. Instead of his usual tactic of denying Noctis what he was so clearly heading towards, Ardyn leaned down biting and kissing a point under his lover’s ear. 

“Then come for me, your majesty. Allow me to see you writhe beneath me. Cry out my name so all may know whom you belong to.” Words he punctuated with thrusts meant to bring about the most pleasure in his lover knowing by now the precise angle he needed to hit without a second thought given. A fingernail he pressed roughly over Noctis’ tip. 

He waited and starved off his own orgasm as long as he could, but Noctis’ body trembling tightening around him was far too much. The sight of him arching his hips brought about his own release with a husky moan as he leaned over his companion’s face so they both may observe one another. 

The king of kings was falling to pieces all over again, the sheer force of Ardyn’s movements enough to leave him all but boneless. His breathing came ragged, barely more than whimpers and groans—and as his lover growled into his ear, they rose, something he could no longer hold back. 

“A-Ardyn–” The way Noctis saw it, Ardyn had to earn this from him; for him to cry out his name on his lips as though in worship. 

In this moment—there was more than enough of that. It was an unwinding of the tensions and fear that had led up to this moment altogether. There was hope for them to finish their quest at least and Noctis was beginning to feel as though he understood at least on some level what it meant for Ardyn to be so tired, so ready for the end… 

But not now; no, Noctis was awash in the euphoria of their coupling, and he tightened his grip in Ardyn’s hair as he reached his climax with a strangled little cry. His legs tensed, toes curled as he lay back against the comforter, lips parted while he drew in slow, careful breaths. He leaned up, messy, passionate kisses gracing Ardyn’s lips as he came down from that shared high.

“You’re beautiful, I adore you, I–” Noctis knew it was showing weakness, maybe more weakness than he could bear but in the heat of the moment, there was little he could do to stop himself. 

Fingertips made their way down to caress at the nape of Ardyn’s neck, brushed low over his shoulders, just wanting to keep him close. 

“Stay with me. Just a while longer—Live. Just a little. To spite them.” It fell from his lips before he realized it, and he nearly instantly felt himself tense. Despite the closeness, despite the warmth of the moment—he instantly regretted speaking it aloud. 

“I… Sorry. Just. No, forget it. I shouldn’t have–” 

Kisses Ardyn returned with equal fervor as his mind calmed and there was naught left in the world but this moment in a post-coital bliss shared with Noctis. His body reminded him of the drain of healing upon it and how this shared pleasure between only added to the exhaustion. However, it was a contented exhaustion he relished in. Ever the appreciative lover he was when given his desires. 

With their feelings known, but unspoken the Chosen was becoming more a sentimental man prone to bouts such as these to lavish praises with little thought to his own reservations. Ardyn was never a man to say no to such compliments which he returned with the wandering of his hands across his lover’s body. An admiration for what he was given and through tactile sensations Ardyn was more easily able to convey his affections. Though his motions nearly stilled at what Noctis disclosed in the heat of the moment.

For the first time in many, many centuries a look of genuine shock came over the Accursed’s features. Pupils contracted and brows transversed to rise to his hairline. 

Forget? 

How could he forget such words with nothing but sincerity written upon the Chosen’s face? Despite how closed off the man tried to appear, he was open like a book. The Infernian’s words echoed back to him, but Noctis was not suggesting that he continue to live for an eternity more. The nuance contained meant to live for a while longer whatever that meant. A wish most sincere his lover made to be selfish together and eke out a few more decades before they ended it all. “And yet you still spoke of it, hmm? It is a wish of yours, Noct?” 

He gave nothing away on the inner conflict it arose within. At the heart of everything, the Immortal Accursed was so very, very tired. His existence a long painful stretch of years devoid of meaning. He existed merely because the damnable gods thought him unworthy. 

Remove himself he did from his lover’s body entirely to lay upon the bed beside him. 

Everything had happened a little too fast for Noctis’ liking—though he wasn’t one to complain. And he was definitely prone to saying dumb things in the heat of the moment or in this case; things he had not thought out well enough to even begin to imagine. He tried to calm his fluttering heart, tried to dial back any emotion that might be bubbling up and threatening to take over. Where Ardyn was concerned, he simply could not afford to let himself get so caught up if he didn’t want to suffer for it. 

He felt the cold of separation more acutely than usual when he pulled away, and Noctis only hesitated for a moment before he turned over and moved to rest his head on the Accursed’s chest. Okay so—Ardyn was right. 

“It’s… Yeah, I’ve thought about it. But—I’m not backing out. It’s not that. Please don’t think it’s that.” Noctis let out a low sigh and closed his eyes. 

“I will do whatever you say is best for you. I never had a choice—y'know? And I’d probably defer to your judgment anyway. But I won’t deny that… you make me want to live. And when I think back on my life I don’t know if I ever really wanted that. I just wanted to… not die. For the moment or whatever.” Noctis said slowly. 

He was careful with his words, gentle with the way he spoke but– Noctis knew that Ardyn wanted this all to end. He did too—save for in the moments when he wanted to be with Ardyn forever. He wanted to hear his teasing laughter, have those intense eyes on him—he didn’t want that to end. It was selfish and even a little childish; but he had never had the chance to explore this part of himself; never fallen in love—not really, not beyond the most base of carnal pursuits and learned fondness. 

Noctis closed his eyes and hid against Ardyn’s skin, wanting to bury himself there. It was a foolish sentiment and he hated himself for it almost instantly. 

“I’m sorry.”

Fingers traced and caressed along the outlines of his lover’s frame. Ardyn offered his silence in listening to what precisely Noctis meant. Ifrit would be proven wrong. Noctis had made good upon his promises, and the man still intended to keep this one. That he would end the both of them for there was no other option available to two wretched immortal souls forged by the gods in an attempt to keep themselves from fixing a problem they inflicted upon Eos. 

The Chosen was allowed to hide as he desired for the time being. Ardyn’s mind still too racing with his own thoughts on how exactly he wished to handle this recent development. Surely for Noctis to have so much to say upon the subject it had plagued his mind for longer than just a moment. --Perhaps while he rested away his death, but matter little it did. Tone so carefully chosen as though Noctis did not wish to bring out the wrath that bubbled and writhed beneath the surface of Ardyn’s calm, collected mask. 

In the truth of things it had been a long, long time since he had given a care or thought to anyone aside from himself. The world at large was not to be trusted. Everything in it tools, stepping stones, or fleeting diversions in a nearly endless sea of meaningless years. The weight of so many Daemons shoved and caged into too small a vessel. It was all a weight on a being once a mortal man. It tugged and clawed and dragged him into a bone, no _soul_ , weary exhaustion. 

The decision ultimately lie with him. 

But was this man hiding in the crook of his arm worth the extra wait, the trouble? A rare circumstance Ardyn did not have a clear answer for. He needed to think and ponder upon the suggestion a while longer. 

He tugged upon Noctis’ hair so the man could no longer hide. A kiss he gave as a gesture to show he was not irritated with him for the moment. An amused, dark laugh surged forth through his chest. He scratched along the stubble of the king’s jawline watching those blue eyes carefully for deception. “I do believe my desire lies-“ He nipped at his lover’s bottom lip. “-in wishing to take my pleasure from you once more.”

After all that--- all he had to say was that he wanted to go again? There was something just so quintessentially Ardyn about the avoidance that Noctis couldn't even bring himself to be angry. He knew that it was a lot. He knew that it had come out of his mouth hastily. Noctis had—of course, groaned obediently, melting into the warmth of Ardyn's mouth against his skin. 

That was—unfair-- but he also understood. If Noctis had had his way well, he hoped that Ardyn would forget about it, or dismiss it as silly. Simply focus on their task before them and all that. It was easier, and gods could he use that. To simply keep things 'easy' would've been a true blessing. 

But that was the long and short of it, wasn't it? There was no one left to impart a blessing even if he wanted there to be. Noctis pursed his lips and lazily returned the attention given to him, hands moving over skin as he curled in closer, legs tangling together. 

"Think about it. Or don't. Forget it if you want." It was being alone in this now that he feared; that Ardyn's temper or the madness in his mind might carry him away at any given time. Noctis may have felt as though he was genuinely getting to know the man, but that didn't mean he wasn't unpredictable, still. 

"Either way, you can take me all you want," He added with a light tease in his tone. "At this rate, I'm starting to feel like I'm rather spoiled all over again." And he hoped he didn't think it was a bad thing-- 

Noctis felt that Ardyn probably hadn't been made to feel like he had given anyone anything good in ages. As things were, he had become the only good thing in a future that was a dismal nightmare, even if Ardyn himself could be blamed for part of it. Noctis still had to come to terms with that on some level rather than ignoring it. 

The king's hand came to rest on Ardyn's chest, over the scars, over his heartbeat as though his fingers could hope to contain it somehow. 

Think of the proposal he would, but not whilst he was in the midst of Noctis whom would provide him such distraction from his thoughts. The Chosen did command much of his attention. An obsession cultivated through the ages and culminated into what they shared between them now. Was he delaying an answer to the question? Most certainly, but only because he was uncertain if this was what he desired. For so long it was only an end he wished, and that much still had not changed. He wanted to die. He wanted to be eased forever of this dreadful burden. However, the question was thus: Did he want to delay it for a few years longer to enjoy the company of his newest lover?

Would Noctis be enough to eke out a few more years of this existence before laying it all down? That Ardyn did not have an answer to at least not yet.

“When have you not been spoiled, Noct? You have had most everything given to you or taken care of.” For now he showed no signs of anger in his eyes. Mischief, yes, but it was a nearly ever present thing in his lover’s presence. He touched and stroked at Noctis’ cock slowly knowing it would take them both a little longer then the first to come into their full desires once more. Pressure he varied to gain Noctis’ interest in the act more quickly.

“You are, after all, a king.” Soon the two of them would be gods for nothing higher, more powerful than they would exist in the entirety of Eos. “In due time we are to take the titles of the deities of this realm. Wretched and divine in our wrath.” With praise and damning given to them in equal measure.

He arched into the touch upon his chest. An invitation for Noctis to touch and explore as he willed. The Chosen had earned the right. For he did own the metaphorical organ over which his hand rested. No one else would be allowed such an honor even if Ardyn’s heart was a blackened thing with only a sliver of light contained within it now. 

It was almost crushing now that he accepted it like a vice wrapped and strangling him, but at the same time a freeing, fleeting feeling; horrible and delightful all at once. A thought he dealt with by grabbing his lover’s ass rather harshly; sure to leave a reddened mark even as he kneaded the flesh in the aftermath.

It wasn’t as though he wanted to complain—it was a bit surreal, really; that they were still covered in the soot and brimstone of the volcano; the very lifeblood of the god they had brought to justice. Thinking about it left him a bit torn. There was some solemnity to what they were doing for him at least—though he imagined for Ardyn that this was a thing to celebrate. Noctis licked his lips, trying to focus around the sharp jolts of pleasure that his lover’s hand brought him. Too distracting; it was too easy for him to fall to pieces at the slightest beckoning. Had he merely been trained that way? 

Noctis supposed that was one way of thinking of it, after all, but he didn’t mind. No; the thought of one more part of him belonging to Ardyn was just fine. It was almost disturbing to him how much he wanted that; how much his mind had been completely fogged and taken over by him. 

“It’s…. just so–” His sentence, already incoherent broke off into a low moan as he found himself rocking his hips into Ardyn’s hand, almost fully hard again by the time he shifted and stradled his lover’s lap as though to challenge him. 

Noctis let go of anything that he was holding onto; gave up trying to puzzle things out and decide on anything. All that mattered was Ardyn. He smirked, leaning in to brush hot breath against the elder immortal’s ear. 

“Fine. I expect that you’re going to fuck me so hard that Bahamut can hear it inside of the crystal,” It was mostly a tease but—he seemed to be learning ways to tell Ardyn what he wanted more and more often; to make his needs heard in ways that growing up and among his retainers he had never been encouraged to. 

Pointedly, and with that same wickedness in his expression, Noctis rocked his hips back to grind the curve of his ass against Ardyn’s growing erection, waiting for his inevitable reaction—for those strong hands on his thighs, for starters. 

Whether or not Noctis was on a subliminal level allowing himself to be trained towards his wants and desires, Ardyn enjoyed his lover’s reactions none the less. Maybe it was the natural progression of things between them instead. Slowly acclimating the wants and needs of the other until all of it was secondary nature without another thought. 

Had Noctis not taken the initiative to straddle him, Ardyn would have helped him into that exact position. The lascivious grin upon his face could not be hidden from blue eyes. “That is the intent, Noct. Allow him to hear how much you enjoy being pierced upon me. Listen as his Chosen-” The word said with disdain and sarcasm in his usual drawl. “-screams so beautifully for me.” He debated teasing Noctis by drawing out this encounter so slowly it would be torturous for his usually impatient lover, but Ardyn was not in the mind to offer such a ‘mercy’. 

He needed now to clear his mind once more. Figure out without the incessant scratching of daemons how he wished to proceed. A show he made of releasing a heated breath through his lips and lifting his head slightly as Noctis ground against him tempting his body into full arousal once more. As predicted the Accursed’s hands found purchase along Noctis’ thighs digging into them leaving impressions upon his skin. His thumbnail pushed into that not yet healed wound upon his innermost thigh bringing it to bleed once more.

Bright crimson brought to his lips tracing the Chosen’s own lifeblood upon his bottom lip before his tongue darted between his teeth tasting it. Expression turned devious, predatory. He wondered how beautiful Noctis would be bathed in more bright red until he shone and glistened in the low light. His lover made no attempt to hide that he enjoyed their rougher play, after all. 

Hips pushed upwards to meet with Noctis’ movements. The man acted as if he was penetrated, but Ardyn soon made it a reality. Reaching between them he held himself in position and gave his lover a knowing look, demanding. A single brow raised drawing Noctis to defy him. “We both know what you want.”

The blossom of white-hot pain was welcome; more so than he wanted to admit. It had become something that he nearly obsessed over, that blossom of crimson against his own skin as Ardyn drew blood again. He drew in a trembling breath that turned into a groan at the sight of delicate fingers bringing crimson droplets to the curve of smirking lips. 

It sent a shiver through the king’s entire body—causing him to press forward in search of something to tame the heat of desire unfurling within him but, oh he knew—that it would not come so easily this time, and that Ardyn had… some specifics to demand. Noctis would use this to his advantage; either in giving the fallen king what he wanted and relishing in the praise, or in denying it and accepting the punishment he might have lavished upon him as well. 

Noctis gave a shudder, goosebumps tickling down his spine as he met Ardyn’s wicked grin with his ever present defiance. Oh they both knew what Noctis wanted; what he always wanted. The pleasant numbness of pleasure—the freedom from all that weighed on his shoulders, once a head full of muttering now brought to a disturbing near silence. 

He didn’t hesitate but for a few seconds, rocking back to allow Ardyn’s cock to press inside of him with little hesitation. A soft huff and a groan as he took it all in with heavily lidded eyes. Noctis took several deep breaths to steel himself and then bucked his hips– no real rhythm yet, just teasing as he watched whatever reaction he might draw out of his lover. 

“Ardyn…” It was a low purr as he moved and let himself sink down all the way, whimpering at the sensation of fullness. “You love this… don’t you? Watching me so exposed–” 

Noctis rested his hands on Ardyn’s shoulders as he moved and pointedly slid his fingertips back to brush over the top of a thick ribbon of scar tissue, barely hiding his smirk. 

“Good boy.” came the murmur from the Accursed’s lips as Noctis did as he was commanded. His reward came with Ardyn massaging his thighs and moaning as his lover sat upon him completely. Breath released more heavily at the little show the King made of settling onto his hips taking his cock fully inside of him once more. There was a certain thrill he got in bending others to his will especially if they gave him what he wanted willingly. 

Those eyes of his so intense in how he stared and admired the beauty Noctis possessed. He made no attempt to hide how he felt towards him now. It made the Chosen a bit uncomfortable. It suited him perfectly as Noctis uneasiness and embarrassment was indeed a most pleasant thing to behold. 

Ardyn felt the need at his fingertips. A deep, primal itching within his being to possess and claim and rend Noctis until all he could think about was him. Incredibly selfish it was, but the Accursed was beyond caring. Maybe it was a way it was an urge to drive every last shred of what Ifrit had taken and done out of Noctis’ memories. 

“Hmm.” He hummed in appreciation for the man upon his lap snapping his own hips upwards in teasing. “If only you could see the arousal written on your face. You make it oh so obvious as to wanting me inside of you claiming you. _Fucking_ you.” 

Those suggestive words in seductive tones fell away when his lover reached for those damnable scars. Pupils blown wide in pleasure as Ardyn snapped his hips up hard grounding himself inside of Noctis uncaring of any discomfort caused for his lover. Nails dug into flesh leaving welts and bruises and a heady moan broke from the Accursed’s lips. 

Further reaction was almost immediate as he regained a bit of his senses. Fingers reached and intertwined with raven hair to pull Noctis down roughly into a heated kiss. Biting and worrying his lover’s bottom lip only to move to leaving marks and sharp bites upon his jawline uncaring of the neglected shave. “You will pay for that, Noct.”

For all of their talk of sin and the darkness that they were now more or less harbingers of, the sounds out of Ardyn’s mouth were nothing short of divine. Every breath and gasp sent another tremble down Noctis’ spine.

“It’s not like I—ah—h-have anything to hide–” Not from Ardyn. Ardyn had seen and pierced through everything. 

Even if he was embarrassed just on principal, Noctis wasn’t able to hide anything from him. This was evident in the way he faced him now. Noctis shifted his weight forward on his knees a bit so he had a little more control of how his hips moved, and he could reach his lover’s back a bit more easily—see how much more he could taunt him with those touches. 

Before he could go further, Ardyn’s hand had tangled tightly in his hair, pulling him in and sealing their lips together. He groaned into the kiss and rolled his hips, building a slow rhythm though it took some effort to simply focus. The wet heat of his lover’s mouth on his chin and throat left him gasping, hands shifting to grip tightly into the curls at the nape of the Accursed’s neck. It was a favorite place of his—but this time, it was likely more just by chance as he shuddered and ached for more. 

“Gonna punish me?” For touching his scars? 

Noctis only wanted to touch them more, to turn marks of shame into something more—much in the same way that Ardyn now sought to cast any memory of Ifrit’s violation out. The king breathed against his lover’s skin, muttering soft sweet nothings of acceptance. 

“I’ll take it, but only ‘cause I like it. I want to feel you everywhere. Every part of me…s'yours.” Embarrassing to say, but worth it if only he could get an appropriate, desirable reaction out of his partner. 

Temptation lie there lurking beneath the surface to follow through to hear those cries as he roughened his lover a bit. Noctis had proven he was no stranger to any harsher forms of affection and sexual play. The Chosen was a most perfect lover for Ardyn’s lecherous mind in this regard. So many ideas came to mind in order to tear Noctis down bit by bit. 

A blade he wanted to take and carve out his name into the Chosen’s flesh if only it would scar and stick. For another time perhaps when Ardyn was not attempting to make both of them forget the words Noctis spoke and his wish. “Only because you beg so sweetly, Noct.” He punctuated his words by reaching between them to squeeze tightly around his lover’s cock. A light teasing flick of his fingers given as his touch was withdrawn for the moment. 

Defiant nature showed fully in these moments when the Chosen encouraged that side in the Accursed to come and present itself. “Or I can pull out of you entirely and leave you to deal with your desires on your own.” He chuckled dark and low reveling in watching Noctis squirm as he shifted his hips to brush against the spot inside of his lover that he knew would garner a reaction from him. 

Legs used as leverage to thrust into his lover harder, more roughly, but in this position it was Noctis whom set the pace. The Accursed lifted his head running this tongue across sweat dappled skin along Noctis’ neck. He bit hard into the juncture of his companion’s shoulder tasting stinging crystal tainted blood upon his lips. At the same time he pinched and tugged harshly upon one of the hardened tips of flesh along his lover’s chest. Those sounds were sweet to Ardyn’s ears. 

And the change in the position of his neck allowed Noctis better access to those scars he loved to touch now. Almost as though Ardyn was encouraging his lover to continue. 

The rough treatment only pushed Noctis to be more compliant, more boneless as he clung to Ardyn’s shoulders, his thighs quivering as the errant jolts of pleasure left him shivering. Not enough to drive him anywhere close to the edge; not enough to build anything—and that was surely part of the torture, part of his ‘punishment’ as it had been offered before. 

Noctis hissed and whimpered as deft fingers found his chest, and despite his attempts at keeping composure, he couldn’t stop himself from bucking his hips and squirming in such a way that immediately gave away the weakness; the sensitivity that shot down his spine like the lightning he favored in battle. A string of curses left him as he dragged his nails up from the middle of Ardyn’s back, no mind to what damage they might do. He couldn’t think straight anyway, reduced now nearly to a drooling mess as he rocked his hips in search of more of that—more of anything. 

Ardyn had somehow found ways to draw out the most of Noctis; the most of his anger, kept hidden. The most of his passion, carefully disguised. The most of his desperation barely concealed by a dour expression—and in doing so had laid claim to all of it fully. 

Gone was the room; dusty, derelict and forgotten. All that existed in that moment was Ardyn; the fire that he had set in Noctis’ chest consuming everything more than Ifrit’s flame could ever hope to. 

“Ardyn, please–” His own errant movements were erratic and he couldn’t focus—didn’t know if he wanted to anyway, and it took all of his self control not to reach between his legs to stroke himself to completion. It was a quiet sense, as though he knew that Ardyn expected and demanded that to be for him, this time. 

All pretenses of any kind of higher morality or propriety were gone as Noctis rode him, begging in a string of breathlessness– “Fuck me, please, please, fuck me–” 

–As if nothing else mattered, or for the moment, he had forgotten it in his open and ceaseless worship of this man whom he had become so enamored by; a dark obsession that was wrought of far too many complicated emotions to be explained simply and had now cemented itself in his heart of hearts.

Even if damage were wrought upon delicate, scarred flesh perks of immortality would not allow them to remain long. Small scratches freed minute rivets of blackest blood. Stinging sensation spread and tantalized the tenses of a man whom found greatest of delights within pain. Voice contorted into masculine and husky moans. A cry of his pleasure and an urge for Noctis to continue to lavish such harsh touches upon heated flesh. 

In turn to delightful, exquisite glimpses into the Chosen’s psyche he was gifted in turn Ardyn allowed pieces long guarded under false pretenses and masks made to conceal truest intentions to fall and crack. The beating heart revealed underneath the darkened layers of the fallen Oracle. No other shall be allowed such a blessed offering. 

Harm would not befall his admired lover say for by his own bloodied hands.

Mine. _Mine_. Chanted in mantra with a mind broken at its base, but given solace in passions shared between he and the Chosen whose hands they could not keep to themselves. Warmth and contentment fleeting but lingered upon his tongue almost enough for him to speak so it lay bare. They were wretched in immortality and could only find acceptance and empathy in one another. 

Good, obedient as Noctis came undone. A sight more beautiful than the sunsets over Lestallum in his youth. Features aged in crystalline light reddened and flushed in arousal near to peaking. And should obedience not be rewarded? This face upon his lover was after all pulling at the lust and desire yet to be sated between his own legs. That slight tremble telltale sign of Noctis’ impeding want to trip over the edge of the proverbial cliff.

Fingertips pressed into delicate skin stretched across hips moving in erratic fashion to seek his pleasure. Grips tightened until purple, blue marks painted across his lover’s flesh. Movement quick and swift pushed Noctis against the wall. In remembrance of a time past one hand set between raven hair pulling and grabbing in manner none too gentle. The other wrapped around Noctis’ neglected cock, tugging and caressing. Thrusting in and out in quick, hard succession in a rhythm they both favored. If Noctis wished to be fucked, then Ardyn would deliver it to him. He would be sore and aching so no question lie come morning of what they shared. In this they showed their love and passion unspoken.

The way that Ardyn was coming undone was something that Noctis wasn’t entirely sure that he’d seen before—the experience was a new one, and if he could have thought on it, he would have but that didn’t seem to be a possibility with the way his senses were being overriden. He gasped as weight shifted; head spun, and he found himself pressed against the wall with such suddenness that everything blurred. Noctis cried out almost immediately, the shift in angle making him see stars as he arched in Ardyn’s arms. 

The force of the Accursed fucking into him left Noctis completely incoherent, nails dragging blindly to rake up his shoulders—all he could do was wildly move his hips in tandem, the sharp tugs of Ardyn’s hand that knew him far too well almost too much to take. 

Noctis panted for breath, chest heaving as sweat rolled down from his temple—and droplets from the corners of glassy blue eyes joined it, unbidden. He didn’t know how sincerely Ardyn looked forward to the times when he had the Chosen so very overstimulated that he fell to bits entirely like this, sobbing with pleasure, overwhelmed by the loss of control—If he had, he might have tried to learn how to summon the tears on cue though surely they might lose their charm, then.

Face screwed up in pleasure, he mewled and writhed and he did not beg this time; he felt Ardyn’s wild movements and knew that this would reach its end soon; too soon, as always. The king of kings wished, somewhere in the back of his mind where he could still think that the marks left on him could last but—knew they would not. The Crystal would not allow it. 

The blood drawn by insistent teeth at his throat had already begun to stymie, the wound all but vanished though the smear of crystal-laced blood remained. 

Babbling, Noctis clawed at Ardyn’s shoulders, drawing blackened blood under his nails, gripping far too tight as his body tensed, breath coming in short little gasps. 

“I—Ardyn, I’m. I’m gonna–” There was nothing more he could do to stop himself even if he tried, and he felt the steadily creeping orgasm that had been building for what felt like far too long spill over him like a wave of unbearable heat. Head thrown back as he rode it out, he tried to muffle his strangled cry that left his chest and stomach decorated in opalescent white—almost instantly embarrassed by how much and how hard he had reached his peak at Ardyn’s insistence. 

Tears shone like diamonds upon the attractive visage of his lover flushed in red and wanton expression. The sight taunted at the immortal’s peaking arousal. Control so fleeting and utterly lost sent the Chosen into a spiral of pleasure and passion where he could hide nothing even those little moans and twitches of his body pierced upon the Accursed’s cock. 

A hum of satisfaction purred from Ardyn’s lips at a declaration given. No cessation or hand raised to prevent the inevitable downfall of both entwined. Voice masculine and husky sprung forth a moan of encouragement into precious lover’s ear. Ardyn would call it bliss. Scratching and incessant pounding of darkness blight silenced by seductive siren’s calls pressed indignantly into rigid wall. 

“Noct!” Said in broken prayer to the only being yet alive that held precious modicum of a former Chancellor’s respect. Dearest King of Light fallen apart in the arms of his cursed divine decreed nemesis. Twitches and shudders signaled a pleasurable end of the Accursed’s partner dragging him along into the abyss with a cry answered in kind. Thrusting motions did not cease, but movement was languid and more a declaration of possession than for an aching want to satisfy desires. Once. Twice. Thrice more. 

Breath heated brushed against Noctis’ skin as lips lavished in its wake. Beautiful more so than any other moment when left so bare and open for the taking. Kisses gifted in appreciation and affection. Exhausted lover maneuvered with grace and ease to lay upon dusty sheets stained in speckles of crimson and darkest soot. 

Tips of manicured fingers caressed in admiration and care only seen from a tormented mind when acting as the most sated cat. Sweat glistened in low light. Lungs caught in miniature struggle to regain passion stolen breaths. In this most exquisite moment when Noctis was at a peak of vulnerability was his most alluring. 

“Such a delight you are, _amatus mea_.”

Noctis couldn’t remember the last time he’d been such a complete mess. Really, he didn’t much care to remember. He felt terribly small and frail as Ardyn laid him down—gentle and sweet after fucking him so hard he could barely breathe. Even as he curled next to him, Noctis’s chest rose and fell rapidly, tears and sweat still glistening on his skin—hair matted to his forehead and cheeks. 

“You’re… too good to me.” There was that ancient Lucian again—he knew it this time, had remembered it after dredging up the meaning from somewhere in his memory. 

He drew in a few deep breaths, a hint of a wheeze still present, and would be for a while as he and the crystal expelled the scourge from his body fully—and Noctis smiled, as though he had not a care in the world. 

“I adore you–” No, that wasn’t good enough. Swallowed hard, the next bit came out husky and a bit strained. “I am… Madly in love with you.” 

It was easiest to say in the afterglow, wasn’t it? He ached in the most delightful of ways—and felt that he really could forget about everything else for eternity pressed into Ardyn’s embrace. A delight? He could only hope. 

The king of kings lay curled there, hand resting over Ardyn’s chest to feel his heartbeat. The euphoria of adrenaline and endorphins chased away any of the fears that should have been cropping up in the wake of the hope and desire he had let escape before. His mouth was dry, but he would not disentangle himself from Ardyn. Not just yet. 

Admitting to something like that so openly was difficult for him, even more so with the sincerity it held. He was a creature seeking something more—knowing that the end was coming. He fought against it just as any mortal man would his inevitable end, though with perhaps a bit more dignity it seemed. If you could call one in his position; thoroughly fucked and curled up like a kitten dignified at all.

Theirs was not a love spoken in the strictest sense associated with romantic endeavors, but suit them it did none the less. Two destructive forces not too unlike the divine Astrals in power brought together under a shared sense of suffrage and revenge against a decreed fate. Only in vulnerability would this Chosen King offer his emotions to bare to the beast that held his heart.

The Accursed Immortal would devour his lover’s heart; consume him from within. In this shared fall from grace would he in turn grant the privilege of owning the blackened heart sheltered under daemonic fiends and cradled by a once brilliant light.

A smile in playful tease creased into his cheeks. His love an incredibly needy creature whom thrived upon affections and tactile sensations. Two treasured gifts the fallen king would bestow for appreciation in shared pleasure he was allowed to take and give at his behest and explicit subtle trained behaviors ingrained into Noctis now. A manipulation of his to perfect a lover who would please him so. His lover willingly gave; for Noctis was a man brimming with stubborn, willful determination. So well trained was his partner now that complete abandonment was not possible.

His heart stirred in fluttery content leaving lesser men weak in the knees from such flighty sensations. “Ah care to repeat that Noct? I am unsure if my ears deceived me or not. You must recall my rather advanced age.” Feather-light was the touch upon the chest of a beloved companion tracing over reddened and violet marks of possession. A pity crystalline light already began to fade them into unblemished pale skin. His marks though lie deeper as hooks drawing two souls, wretched and divine together in unholy union.

Underneath a carnal desire to possess and claim and ruin did he hold truest sense of what novels would call romantic love however unconventional theirs was. Softer desires intertwined explicitly to the light that yet remained made temptation too strong to resist. Lips soft and tasting of earth and soot sought to claim those of the Chosen’s. Teasing and taunting at his partner’s in turn until entry was allowed to deepen this declaration of affection. 

The king of kings’ cheeks burned, his expression pulled into one of the slightest bit of irritation. There was no way that Ardyn hadn’t heard what he’d said—he was calling it into question purely due to the fact that he wanted to hear it said again and knew how it made Noctis squirm to be so forward. He was already bare before him in every sense of the word: what more could he want from him? 

Feeling vulnerable, Noctis leaned his head against the Accursed’s arm, a now familiar place to him where he was happy to rest—and sighed. 

“Don’t use this against me.” He said lowly. “I said I’m in love with you. Madly. In love with you.” 

Noctis felt as though the words were capable of ripping his insides out on the way up his throat. He felt nearly nauseated if only because he feared what it meant. It gave Ardyn new ways to hurt him; ways that he wouldn’t like nearly so much as he liked the more physical things. 

His eyes made their way to the ceiling, cobwebs clinging to dark corners—the hum of the generator outside and the air conditioner ( a blessing, really ) a good source of white noise to at least not let his mind eat itself alive entirely. The fear of what was to come was still far away, so long as he could be here in Ardyn’s arms. 

He still had conflict inside of him. Ardyn was responsible for everything that had happened to him. Every pain that he had suffered could likely be traced back to him in some way and yet—Noctis couldn’t blame him for becoming what he had. How much agency did he really hold? If he had done nothing for two thousand years, wouldn’t the rest of the Astrals have nothing to make into their great adversary? It was all a mess of confusion, and the more he thought about it, the more that Noctis realized he knew virtually nothing in regard to Ardyn’s truth. His motivations were entirely his own. He didn’t know what he had lost or… much of anything about him really, save for the fact that he had to have come from around the end of the era of Solheim, if his own memory served correctly. 

To have walked the world when Costlemark Tower wasn’t just a ruin and breeding grounds for Daemons—and everything else, for that matter as it had continued to fall. Humanity had been decimated by the scourge, what little room for advancement that remained contained behind the walls of Insomnia or the sinister labs of Gralea. 

What was there left to save? Why save anything at all but themselves?

Lovely was the man whom attempted to hide from the world against his form. Exhaustion deep and bone weary tugged and settled into an immortal’s frame. Aches and burns yet taken care of by fiends harbored within human vessel pained and provided irritating distractions; easily ignored in the crimson painted cheeks of the man whom Ardyn would call his beloved. Chosen king fallen in the arms of a devil. 

Inquiry lingered in the trenches of a mind tormented and ready to embrace death’s soothing touch. A desire voiced in Noctis to live out a life together amongst a world that failed them both. A fault in carefully laid scheme veered off course towards a destination uncharted. Would a soul drenched in betrayal and suffering wish to continue this existence on account of one? Did Noctis breathe life and fire betwixt the cracks in his soul? If Ardyn were to allow pretenses to fall then answer would be: Yes, indeed he did.

Admission came with tangled webs and jagged edges of a man frayed. Was it worth it? A query so profound in impact required careful consideration. Marriage and then love had once found caring king of old within its warm grasp. Now found him once more contained within the panacea to his immortal curse. Hope given form of another king born of a traitor’s bloodline which had slowly captured and kept demented man’s heart. Did their pain not come from the same shared awful, wretched source when all actions were weighed against a backdrop of each of their realities? One they sought to alleviate Eos from now--

Arms embraced about that which was the only thing sacred and dear to him now pulling Noctis closer. Chest shook in mirthless laugh. “Oh Noct.” The name was an affectionate purr upon lips. The rumbling of fiends and dark thoughts silenced in this moment of post-carnal bliss. “You plead to me so sweetly.” Fingers made reverent motions through hair upon a crown pressed now into his chest. There were more entertaining ways to harm Noctis should he desire than to use the love shared between them now. “It would be unwise of me to break you now.” Though the way Noctis was held in his embrace now pressed so close spoke the words in return which Ardyn would not say. 

In a way both immortals ensconced so intimately around one another were broken already. It is in those thoughts that the Accursed allowed his eyes to close. Fingers stroked moments more before going lax in place amongst his lover’s hair. 

Slumber found him briefly waking to familiar warmth that even with eyes closed yet still he would know as Noctis. He whom clouded his thoughts and made a decision most difficult. Rest had not allowed his mind to settle upon definitive answer. Thought he would not achieve untainted in the Chosen’s presence. He needed solace and solitude to pry at the depths of what would he desire more: immediate end or a prolonging of years out of spite? 

Careful he was to disentangle from limbs so tightly bound as to escape their embrace. In quiet measured actions he cleaned and removed accumulated grim from sun-kissed skin. Hygiene deemed suitable enough did he pull from the aether a duplicate set of infamous clothes, coat and all to dress.

Sleep came quickly. Noctis hadn’t realized just how utterly spent he was; exhausted enough to pass out soundly in the death-like grip of his usual unnatural sleep. It was a comfort to his ailing mind and body—to lose oneself in the emptiness. His dreams were no longer plagued by glimpses of Astrals or the rumblings of their muttering and he slept perhaps better than he ever had in his life; with the knowledge of Ardyn’s love nestled in his chest. Noctis didn’t really know how to process everything that had come to pass, and he would likely need to have a lot more time to get his mind and heart to settle at all. 

That was something that he might find himself regretting, if only he had made the decision consciously. He slept until he opened his eyes naturally for once, almost expecting to find sun filtering through the window. It made him think of many lazy afternoons he had spent in his apartment back home, sated from the night before and expecting warm company when he came to. 

When it became clear that Ardyn wasn’t beside him, he simply stretched and flopped over, the vague scent of dust and the grime of the battle with Ifrit still clinging to his clothes as he was brought back to the rather dismal present. 

Bahamut had broken his covenant; severed him from being able to summon him forth. He was afraid and cautious, and that meant that they had to be more careful than ever. Noctis scolded himself for going straight into such heavy thoughts. He had things to face; things he’d have to address with Ardyn and soon. 

Noctis got himself out of bed and stretched his aching limbs, gravitating towards the sounds in the bathroom. He had draped the old blanket over himself rather than getting dressed, and called out softly. 

“Ardyn?” He waited a moment, voice still quiet and husky from sleep. 

Shifting creaking of mattress upon old, rusted frame alerted Ardyn to the waking of companion blessed in light of the star. So slow a champion was to waking from deepest slumber. Most gracious miracle it were he opened eyes without further external prodding. Curious thought if so accustomed to the warmth of a lover at his side in his absence would drag a sleeping king to conscious thought. Endearing would it be so entangled they were with one another. Chosen King entrapped and ensnared to healer turned devil. 

Fabric intricate and exquisite covered scarred, sinful physique from prying eyes. Temptation lie before Ardyn draped in a garment made in hasty manner; sufficiently taunting to the dormant desires caged inside his groin. Would he ever have his fill of this now cherished king? No, he would not. The longer he remained within Noctis’ presence the more he adored and despised an element he prided being in control of, but wholly disliked it was not. “Ah, our king has awakened from his beauty rest at long last.” Teasing words befell from pallid lips. 

Dexterous fingers sprung forth in caresses across skin still bared for appreciation. Ah, if only marks upon an immortal’s flesh could be made in permanent marking to dismiss all notions of whom this soft-hearted king belonged to. So open and inviting was a weary lover barely covered; easy would be to steal another bout of carnal pleasure before departing. 

Oh Noctis, if only he would realize how toxic he was to the Immortal Accursed. How complete his seduction was to entrance suffering, demented soul in gifting full, undivided attention. Such a pleasing lover he was to invoke longing in blackened heart. 

Arms covered in expensive wool and silk pulled scantily clad king into an embrace dislodging a blanket that served as a weak barrier. Gloved palms accommodated a finely shaped ass betwixt a grip made to lift the man attached to such a wickedly sinful feature. Stray a fingertip would to tease between and circle over where his cock wished to bury itself once more. 

A kiss to awaken a sleep-addled king. Demanding a former Chancellor was in pressing talented tongue to swallow protests of a lover. A hum of satisfaction echoed within his chest. When withdrawn sun-light eyes expressed keenest desire to continue this seductive dance. 

Depart he must before baser masculine instincts clouded and muddied intentions. Noct was his affliction. “Do not stray far least I be unable to find you, Noct.” Before meaning could be ascertained from cryptic words Ardyn’s essence became ephemeral in particles of scattered magenta to shatter the outlines of his being. Blow away they would as in dust particles entrapped within brutal wind. Silence fell in their disappearance.

It was entirely unfair how brutally, how intensely that Ardyn could love him. It was bruising; something unspoken that raked down to his bones. He’d feel the kiss for days, for weeks—as though it were the brand that the Accursed so dearly wanted to leave upon him, thwarted by crystal’s healing light. Noctis whined and squirmed at the groping—at nearly being lifted from the ground by hands that bore more strength than any human ever could. Breathless when he was released and nearly stumbled over the blanket that had fallen from his shoulders. 

It was most infuriating that Ardyn could so easily do this to him, nearly enough to bring him to his knees. He’d almost managed to formulate a playful quip when Ardyn’s words left him a bit baffled, and then—he was gone. It wasn’t… entirely unlike him, even if they had been rather glued to each other at least since leaving Lestallum and heading for the ruins of Altissia. But Ardyn was as unpredictable as he was mysterious. 

Noctis remained rooted to the spot for some time, and then resigned himself to get cleaned up as well, and to dig clean clothes out of his Armiger’s subspace. And then, in the deafening silence… he waited. 

It was only when two days had passed and the rumbling of Ravatogh continuing on and on that he, in despair that he was fighting off by ignoring it, decided that it would be in his best interests to abandon the place for somewhere else. But where would he go and how would he get there?

Unsure as to what time of day it was, Noctis finally emerged from the hotel only to find there was a fire in the distance at a haven, flickering in the murky darkness. He supposed it wasn’t unlikely that Hunters and the scientists that were constantly scrambling to make sure that yet another terrible catastrophe wasn’t about to befall Eos. 

Despite his best judgment, Noctis found himself drawn to it—and he wandered through the darkness, his cloak pulled in tight around him as he drew nearer. In his distracted state, he didn’t think anything of simply walking up to the group camping. He hadn’t decided whether or not he’d tell them who he was, and didn’t bank on them recognizing him at all until he got close enough to see two familiar forms sitting together by the fire. Sania Yeager sat with a hefty, worn looking book open in her lap, animatedly pointing to it and talking to the unmistakable, disgustingly familiar form leaning over to see what she was going on about. His golden hair was caught almost orange in the firelight, brows raised over tired blue eyes as he tried to follow whatever it was the researcher was so insistent about. 

Noctis froze, hesitated as the night wind caught up in his cloak, the gold chains that decorated the back whipping against the fabric and jingling with the motion. A young hunter at the edge of the circle closest to him turned around suddenly, gun trained on the darkness where he stood. Prompto and Sania stopped, looking in his direction and Noctis raised his hands—struggled to find something to say. Again, he hesitated. 

Trembling, the young man shouted—at a daemon that wasn’t there. Noctis managed one word: just a “no” in response—and the man he fired. One, two, three shots. 

The first missed entirely. Another tore through his middle and the last clipped his throat, severing an artery. Noctis stumbled uselessly several feet, choking and trying to say something; anything—But the last thing he heard was a vaguely familiar voice shrieking, howling at the fledgling hunter: “That’s a _person_!” 

And he found himself once more in that hated astral plane that was the inner confines of the crystal, waiting for its light to restore his body.


	18. World of Ruin

It was in a sense, probably a mercy that Noctis did not know what was happening as he slept, the Crystal's light working within him to mend the most grievous injuries first. He was dead to the world in a literal sense, though he had some fleeting consciousness within Bahamut's crystal realm—what a damned annoyance. He had half a mind to hunt him down though he feared doing so would endanger his bond with his mortal body in such a state. It was for the better that he didn't have to witness or listen to his best friend's anguish, or the squabbling that came after. 

It was better just to bury a dead body right? Hunters couldn't be weighed down by such things—but Prompto was adamant. The others had a right to know; to see him. To say good-bye, didn't they? And they'd all be on their way soon to hear whatever they'd found out about Ravatogh; which was little aside from the disturbing report from a scout that the nearly unknown, forgotten Infernian's corpse lay in pieces within its caldera, threatening the delicate balance that kept it from spilling magma over its confines. 

Prompto wasn't really strong enough to carry dead weight on his own, but that didn't stop him from determinedly bringing Noctis' body back to the repurposed panel truck they had traveled in and laying him there as though in state, as lovely as he was in life of course—and as out of reach now in death. 

It was there that they found him weeping, a shaken Sania nearby trying to keep the rest of the investigation team together though she too, knew the gravity of what had just occurred. 

Gladiolus was quiet and then furious, furious enough to pick Prompto up by the collar and shake him while Ignis snapped and scolded him for overreacting. Ignis of course, insisted that Prompto had made a mistake—in identity anyway. Surely, he couldn't have shot Noctis. They'd have known, he wouldn't have come this far on his own—there were many excuses spoken. 

It was only after Gladio had relinquished his fury to grab Ignis' hands and place them upon the now cold face of their sovereign that his voice fell silent, choked by cries that even the most put-together retainer could not hide. 

And it was Gladiolus first again, who spoke and asked: "What do we do now?" 

What hope was there? 

Noctis began to feel his consciousness stir again as they rattled along in the back of the truck, brought together by most unfortunate circumstances though it was strange that their grief blinded them entirely to the shards of crystal light that must surely be in part visible now as they healed his surface wounds. In fact—Noctis was quite sure that he was already breathing again even as Prompto tried to talk between sobs. 

"I s-saw him with my own eyes. Ardyn w-was fighting some h-huge fire guy in Leide. Scorched the whole place. D-Didn't you read the report?" It wasn't like he saw them enough these days to tell them in person. 

"Yeah, that doesn't tell me shit. So then that stuff we glimpsed in Gralea was real? If they could kill a god so easy, why was Gentiana also the Glacian if she was dead, huh?" Gladiolus' voice left him shivering, the remnants of that deadly rage in his tone. 

"The science of it is not understood. Even after analyzing what we could—most of it was wiped. You saw that, Gladio." Ignis responded shortly. His voice too, wavered and threatened to break. 

Finally, Noctis struggled to move—his fingers obeyed, though his neck was still agony, vocal chords not quite obeying him. 

He furrowed his brow, blinked, gritted his teeth and clenched his fingertips into a fist—only to hear Prompto shriek as he all but climbed into Gladiolus' lap. 

Noctis finally managed a badly raspy curse, and an utterance of Prompto's name, perhaps out of pure irritation. 

So preoccupied with the squabbling retainers of a Chosen King failed to note a detail of utmost importance to their sorrow: Noctis’ body had yet to be ravaged by decay set in shortly after life extinguished. Preserved so well even in grievous death brought on by a reactionary mistake of a best friend. Guilt so complete as to plague a gunman for years to come until death saw to draw him into its wintry embrace. 

“Man we are s-so screwed if he’s f-found a way to k-kill the gods.” Tears spilled over in small rivers across cheeks staining them in despair contained through unhealthy coping mechanism of forced cheer. A savior lie gone. A sacrilege that all would shun trigger-happy hunter for. It came as a worse fate than mere pawn rejected in the eyes of former Empire fallen from its own hubris. Regrets came from beyond a mask worn now heavily upon bloodied sleeve. 

Horror tales played out so dutifully in front of peers so enamored with dreadful present as to notice the waking of the ‘dead’. Advisor tuned so finely to creaking, movement, screaming, and finally voice so familiar a decade did not dull memory of its owner. A king returned from the beyond or another trick of the devil from ages past. 

Tenseness settled into exhausted frame. A struggle betwixt enemies prepared for as was hunter’s instincts. Calm even in face of potential foe of utmost threat. “Was that Noct?” Shaken to the core if this was hallucination of a man lamenting. 

“Zombie!” Prompto screeched as a man caught inside of horror film brought to life. 

Memories sprung forth of venture into silent, eerie keep so long ago. Master manipulator Ignis did not place such a low past. “Careful... it may very well be Ardyn you shot.” For whom else had the ability to return from fatal blow?

It took some effort to focus and start to push himself into a better position. Unfortunately, doing so caused more blood to gush from the wound in his stomach, as he was pushing himself a great deal just to get his point across. 

“N-Not dead. But you did kill me,” He complained hoarsely, hand pressed to his throat in fear that his exertion might rip his still healing artery open. The acceleration caused by the Crystal’s light was uncomfortable; itchy and tingly in comparison to say, a potion. 

“Calm down, first.” Before he could explain anything. 

The air in the small space had gone pretty cold, tense as Gladiolus stared wide-eyed at the sight of his friend, now a man that was only barely recognizable as he bled what should’ve been his life-blood all over the old panel truck that they used to transport people and weapons. 

Ignis looked just as taken aback, though he could not stare at the morbid sight before him. He waited, patient until he could make his way forward despite the rough movements as they traveled, hands outstretched to find Noctis’ shoulder and then his face which he had felt so cold before—now quite alive. 

“How is this possible? Noct–?” Noctis let him touch him, let him come to terms with what he was—what was happening. 

“The light of the Crystal’s… been shed into me, and into the ring.” He started slowly. It was still painful, but it was better to get started than to dwell on it for too long. 

“Bahamut’s damned revelation,” He spat it with obvious vitriol. “Wants us to die so the dawn can come. No one ever asked me–” 

Us—Gladiolus’ face pulled into a stern frown, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Noctis looked at Prompto full on for the first time, light glinting from his wounds as the crystal’s power worked closer to the surface. Gods, he looked tired—as if Noctis had stolen what sleep he should have had for the last decade. 

“You’ve all been… fighting hard all this time.” He continued. “But do you even know the truth? About Ardyn? About the Six’s negligence?” He asked this, gazes locked with Prompto’s until he was forced to look away from the sheer intensity of it. 

Glance cast in direction of longtime advisor in knowing from a King’s shield. Force of habit. Sympathy felt when realization hit that a glance could not be seen or returned. Though perhaps felt at slight discomfort Ignis gave as well. Upon the steps of the Citadel what felt like an age ago had King Regis bestowed closely guarded secret upon two steadfast members of a son’s retinue. Not the truth Noctis possessed now of gods and Ardyn, but of a dreadful price to be paid in life’s crimson essence of a Chosen King. 

Looks alone were enough to detail what words were not said. The two eldest members of a royal retinue had known, yet kept a secret to themselves whether out of love or fealty was uncertain. A commoner entered into the group from a prince’s choice remained as oblivious as uncoronated king. Conversation lengthy was to be had discussing what was known and withheld. A keen sting felt from those thought as confidants to a king of kings. 

“You guys knew this whole time and didn’t bother to tell us?” Shaken and relieved was Prompto still from revelation of a friend not slain in truth by his bullets. Anger and disappointment etched into his being, but could not be more so than the betrayal felt by Noctis. Blue eyes pivoted to reveal such assumption held true. 

What comfort could he offer to his friend a decade removed from life? So strange was it all like movie played out. Usually judgement differed to the elder companions, but when they too had failed in some regard? Prompto could only fall back to what he knew to deflect tensions hanging betwixt breathing space as thick fog. 

Bottom lip bit ever so slightly in confidence wavering. “With what happened I don’t think the Six will be concerned… well I mean _we_ should be. Ardyn’s been busy lately. Killing them and all I think. Saw him the other day fighting a giant fire creature.” Maybe not more appropriate topic to steer from horrid conversation, but better than watching tensions boil between once friends. He'd tried to bring it up before, but had been too hysterical to go into further detail.

Noctis’ mind had slipped in and out of the conversation—this was all very strange, so surreal as it were something he never dreamed could happen again. And in a sense he had already given up all that he had for lost; he belonged to Ardyn and to the dark drive that pushed them forward. He could feel Gladiolus’ rancor same as last he remembered—barely disguised and sure to come to the surface if they misspoke. 

The king shifted, drawing in a few breaths as his blind retainer knelt near him, still touching, feeling—knowing that he needed healing. Noctis didn’t know the lengths that the man had gone through to master the magic that was usually only available to the royal family through direct connection—and he startled quite visibly when a potion was drawn out and applied to his wounds to speed the process. 

He was, if nothing else grateful for the pain ebbing, and the fact that he wasn’t afraid of moving too quickly and tearing a fatal wound back open. 

“You saw him fighting Ifrit. They’re _all_ dead now. Erased from the world, save for one. Bahamut.” Noctis said slowly. He did not meet anyone's eyes in particular. 

More than any wound on his person, the fact that Ignis and Gladio had seemed to know that this would claim his life from the very start felt a personal affront. It was, wasn’t it? A sacrificial lamb led to the slaughter, he had always been. 

He thanked Ignis quietly and squeezed his shoulder, sat forward to more properly address the others, both of whom were giving him a look. In the quiet, Sania and Talcott’s quiet discussion in the front was a low drone that made little sense to Noctis. 

“I went to him months ago when I first awoke. On Angelgard island. Umbra was there with your message. But I… ” He swallowed, eyes lowered. “Ten years in empty nothing. I dreamed sometimes, other times it was only Bahamut and his cold insistence. This is the prophecy. The Accursed must be brought to justice. But—didn’t _they_ make him that way?” 

His eyes were narrowed, the rage he felt barely contained. “Ardyn and I did this **together**. The power of the crystal is inside of me, inside the ring. With it, I’m able to remove their bond to the heart of the star—just like how I’m supposed to kill _him_ in the end.” He’d turned his power on the gods that had given it to him, and he made no effort to hide the fact. 

“We’ll be back in Lestallum soon. This is… quite a bit to take in, Noct.” Ignis said slowly. There was that tenderness that was always with him, though trepidation showed as well. 

Noctis was exhausted. It was a wonder that he was conscious at all after recovering from such injuries. 

“–Yeah buddy, just. Try to rest. We’ll figure this out later.” 

Prompto’s dismissal was annoying, but before he knew it he was nodding off against Ignis’ shoulder. 

Shortly, a crowd would watch in awe and terror as Gladiolus carried the chosen king in his arms through the street and to the residential district where he and Iris and some others shared a home—often a well-known makeshift headquarters for the three retainers when their paths happened to cross. 

Noctis would be tucked in to sleep off his body’s exhaustion while the others went to explain what had happened, and what information they now had—while trying to discern what must be their next move. 

Murmurs and whispers of the Chosen King’s return carried upon the wind through lips of citizenry in the last of humanity’s strongholds. Cheer festered and bubbled forth from center where little was to be had in darkened sky and draining hope. A prophecy fulfilled would see them through to salvation; a herald returning of the dawn. 

Hunters whose time was not taken by hunting food or fighting off Deamons guarded residence so a king may find rest in peace. Only the three of the original retinue were allowed entry to tend and oversee, though they too after long day of emotional trials and tribulations attempted rest. A friend alive elevated moods in unfettered abundance, though guilt weighed heavy upon hearts of such things withheld from a prince before tragedy struck. 

Accursed immortal perched upon high in shadow of a city’s former splendor whence a journey struck forth. Without the distraction of a constant companion at his side tainting thoughts a decision could be reached without interference. Hours and days stretched and fled with nary thought. A companion’s presence was... missed in the occasional fleeting moment. 

Such quandary required silence to arrive at a heart’s desire so long bent upon racing towards absolution promised between divinity’s cracked lips. One of few kept fueled what scarce remained of sanity. 

Was the feeling invoked in mostly cold heart by a Chosen enough to fuel desire for continuing to live in a cage so small forced to imprison darkest fiends? Strangely sufficient was a savior in keeping usually fickle former Chancellor’s romantic interest. Companion appealed to him not for frightful, impeding death, but in fervent hope to eke out an existence in spite of the Draconian’s will. Though between the lines was another reason so apparent: a wish of a king to live at length with admiration of a lover. 

The only one whom understood his pain and psyche better than any other. 

Distance built betwixt two did not alleviate the affliction that was Noctis upon Ardyn’s soul. It drove him from solitude to seek out the king. He lurked in shadows cloaked in magic until his target was found among friends of old in Lestallum. Noct lay asleep in repose unaware of added company, facial features relaxed in sleep’s gentle embrace taunted gloved palm to caress beneath eyelids fallen shut. 

Bed accommodated the outlines of seated position upon its edge of immortal admiring ignorant lover. His now. Sun-kissed eyes pivoted in sockets to gaze. Would be such vision aid in alluding to his heart’s desire upon the crux of such weighted decision. 

Though, vexation twitched at the sight of freshly made blood upon clothes. Had he known the culprit of such wounds were still breathing he would make it not so. Nimble fingers shifted in leisurely fashion to pet and curl through raven locks. 

Gladiolus had moved between his new life forged from the ashes of the one left behind and the reborn specter of the first. He had been tormented since the King of Light’s arrival, unable to sit still—telling his family and partner ( a woman hunter from Lestallum ) that they needed to let him do his duty. He felt shame at how quickly and easily he had divested from his original purpose. Secretly thought of how much of a relief it was to live free of the title of “King’s Shield” even if it was in a world choked by darkness and Deamons run amok. 

How unfortunate that it was Noctis himself that was Gladio’s greatest weakness, and now he was back just as prophesied. It was something he knew must happen but had never known when. Ten years was a long time—it was merely a thought in the back of his mind when Talcott had phoned them in desperation, barely able to speak straight. 

He thought that maybe he’d steal a few long glimpses of the boy now a man, watch him as he slept off the fatigue of death and no one would be any wiser to his whims or hidden desires. But those desires would not come to fruition—he knew the truth; that Noctis would very soon lie dead for real, if the prophecy was true. 

It was on his way to the quiet wing of the once abandoned building, now turned a headquarters for the hunters in these parts—when he saw him. 

This time, Gladio did not strike immediately. He didn’t want to cause a scene, especially when he had questions for the damnable chancellor. 

“What are you doing here, Ardyn?” His tone was low and dangerous, carrying a threat. His fingers twitched, prepared to pull his broadsword from subspace at the faintest glimmer of threat. 

“The only reason I’m not gonna take your head offa your shoulders is because I have some questions, and you’re gonna answer ‘em.” 

Attentive gaze did not waiver from lover’s slumbering form. Affectionate gestures did not halt to grant newly arrived intruder into private moment nor a broken messiah’s attentions. Rude was this interruption. Did the Amicitia line fail to instill even most common of manners? Lesson taught in heated tension streamed from a prince’s friend. Relaxed still was a former Chancellor pretending the room still harbored but two. 

Cranium tilted in curious repose over injuries sustained in his absence. Silk covered arms gently removed well worn blanket to inspect healing wounds further. So small were tears in fabric, but bleeding profuse. 

Bullets. 

Tender flesh pink and raw covered in healing’s progression. Fingers drew forth to caress down in fascination could be mistaken for a gesture quite soft. Such weakness of his exposed-- nearly tempted him to permanently silence the witness, but his blades stayed. If not for the love rooted deep of a Chosen King, then in careful manipulation of a king’s retainers. 

As Noctis had neglected to disclose all that occurred betwixt them, the bending of spine to supplant a kiss upon a royal’s brow would without doubt blossom further questions. Posture regained and lavish boots connected with creaking floor to draw the Scourge of the Stars to intimidating height. Lackadaisical pivot brought Ardyn to finally indulge a Shield’s palatable, but senseless threat. Pallid lips curled at edges into playful smile. 

“A fruitless endeavor regardless.” Voice cast in low, husky tones to keep a lover caught within sleep’s embrace. Aware of his spoken word’s effect in aiding him to wake. 

Having his head separated from his shoulders would be a mere inconvenience should Gladiolus follow through in brutish reaction. “Permit me to spare you from the obvious answer,” Brows elevated momentarily with twitch of upper left lip transforming smile to smirk. “Though ask yourself-” One. Two. Three. Steps evaporated division between them to encroach upon personal space in taunting. “- _how_ would Noct react to seeing his heart’s desire beheaded by a most trusted friend?” 

Before foolish actions could be completed Ardyn’s outlines dissolved into magenta phantasms to pull his essence through the world’s veil. Away from reach. Away from overly curious shield. 

Elsewhere in humble accommodations the scent of a meal prepared in practiced hands wafted through. A favored dish of a king absent a world for decade’s time.

Gladiolus was left fuming and—with more questions than answers, though he felt he might have garnered some sense of what was going on. That… didn’t mean he had to like it. The pieces were falling into place, but he didn’t want them to make sense. 

Had Noctis really fallen so low? Had he been tricked by Ardyn’s illusions and lies to this point? It was sickening to watch. The way that Ardyn had touched him remained seared into the shield’s mind like a brand and he couldn’t shake it no matter how long he stood there, watching the King of Light’s chest rise and fall in peaceful slumber. 

He finally tore himself away and thudded off to the kitchen down below to glower at Ignis instead. At first he was sure he must warn the others—but the more he thought about it, the more he didn’t see a point. Ardyn had always come and gone as he pleased and Gladio just didn’t have the heart to suggest what he had told him to the others. Not until they heard more from Noctis’ own mouth. 

Which was fortunate—as some minutes later, the King was showing signs of movement and awakening. He had dreamed about Ardyn, the soft dulcet tones of his voice. Noctis hated how much he missed his presence; him now holding the role of Oracle to him how could he not? A King needed an Oracle to guide him; it was simply the way of things. 

Slowly, he got to wobbly feet and followed his nose towards his meal. There were… many things he needed to say, and to be firm about now that he had recovered from Prompto’s accidental attack. Noctis followed the smell to where he found the elder two speaking in low voices, Ignis’ unseeing eye focused on nothing in particular as he carefully plated food and Gladio stubbornly tried to help him. 

Some things never changed. 

“Smells great. Damn, it’s been forever since I’ve eaten… anything.” He realized. Noctis supposed he didn’t have to eat now, with how things were but it would surely help him get his strength back. 

“We need to talk. About Ardyn.” Gladiolus intercepted him as he sat down at the kitchen table. 

“Yeah, _we do_.” Noctis replied with no lack of defensiveness. “Look, just leave him be. I’ve been… working with him since a couple of months ago. I know, it doesn’t make sense but. A lot has happened. This was my choice. Bahamut’s damned prophecy? All of it? I… I refuse to accept it. _I won’t_. No more sacrifices.” 

Focus sharp, keen as the world shimmered back into solid existence out of the aether of the realm only known to gods. Though could it not be said that he and Noctis forged themselves into gods of their own right if not coveted titles of Astral-slayers. Thought enough to bring contented, vicious grin upon regal visage. Enough to near banish the taste of vexation so strong upon the tip of his tongue. Overprotective Shield cut through a private audience between an Oracle and King. Sufficient was the temptation Noctis offered to instill a longing within blackened heart. Such sentiments brushed aside for clarity required of him now. 

Convictions so steadfast _why, oh why_ was this wrench foisted into the system by a lover’s hand so difficult in arriving in answer that suited him so? Tip of nose twitched in sign of irritation made manifest to reality. The Chosen had wound his way into him such like a symbiotic creature; beneficial, but intoxicating. 

The “need to talk” session back in the HQ turned into hours of recounting—one feat to the next. At the very least, Noctis was able to get it all out though he edged around the matter of his affection for the man whom he had aligned himself with. It had never been something he was welcome to discuss openly after all– 

It was early morning by the time the questions finished, and there was little left of a sense of camaraderie. The past he remembered that was not so distant at all for him seemed out of reach, though in reality it was just an awful lot to take in for men of their bearing. What would they do now that everything had deviated from the one path they had always known? Would they turn on Noctis for choosing to deviate from the plan? All of that remained to be seen. 

The one late night dragged on, days and nights blurring into each other. Noctis woke to Ignis’ cooking each morning, and he began to laugh again, though it was a bit different from the way that he had laughed with Ardyn in the cases that he did. Prompto spent the days showing him photo album after photo album, recounting a decade that he had been missing for. There was so much happening—Iris had become such a formidable warrior that she was sometimes preferred to Gladio on some missions, and Aranea served as a bridge between the refugees of other continents and Lucis, gathering everyone to safety when survivors were found. 

He was proud of them, he was grieving. He was ecstatic and bereft all at once—so strange it was to act as though everything was the same as ever. 

Weeks wore on—and he wondered if Ardyn had really so lost track of time or if he had simply been so spooked that he would not return. Maybe he was doomed to living out his time in this darkness. At least his old friends tried to make it bearable. Though– it was hard to really relax, knowing that what they wanted was as a technicality anyway-- _for him to hurry up and die_. They had promised to see it through to the end, all this time and Noctis just hadn’t put two and two together to know what it was. His mind lingered on Bahamut, and he was gloomy on the day that it started to rain. 

Fields vast, rotted, and decayed stretched outside population center of once proud Lestallum. Not far had Ardyn's powers taken him-- not back to seclusion in empty halls of the citadel, but a villa old built upon this spot long destroyed in time’s relentless march. One he knew well as his childhood home away from Insomnia to provide protection of crowned heir from sinister machinations. Little more now than to serve as destination to procure one’s thoughts and settle dreadful longing. 

Stride wide and languid carried froth through blighted lands wayward. Dark fiends brazen and bold seldom dare cross a beast’s path. Ah but what a lovely distraction provided when foolish brutes thought him an easy meal. Screams echoed so beautifully across barren rocks and earth, and narcotic effects were obtained in the simple end of their wretched lives. 

Time passed, days more perhaps, unknown with fedora tipped from its perch greeting wine hair to the toxic rain tinted in gray. Torrential downpour became a deadly vehicle to spread menace invisible to naked eye through suffocating lands. In this maelstrom his answer to original quandary made itself plainly known from the aether of wavering indecision. 

By now soft-hearted Noct must truly feel the distance betwixt them now among friends who were no longer whom he fondly recalled. Time changed all. Soft magenta outlines danced among rain droplets as he dissolved to deliver message to his lover: a meeting required for a pair in solitude.

Familiar sight greeted his arrival of a charming king fast caught within slumber’s grip. 

“ _I would find you in such a state._ ” Hand gesture in air of dismissal. Tainted water freed itself from soaked clothing to stain upon old wooden floor panels. Pallid lips exhaled in soft, heat against pale skin of delicate neck so tempting to nip and claim. “When you awaken from your slumber, seek me out by your lonesome. I do so loathe impromptu parties.” 

 

Accessory of coveted hat flipped casually betwixt nimble fingers placed in loving care upon the Chosen’s chest. Proof of his visitation should words not have pierced the veil of dreams. Amber eyes fixated upon resting features nearly affectionate in their gaze before drawn away and down hallways out to darkened landscape. 

There was no end to things like this. He was frozen in time—there would be no end for him if he didn’t end it. He knew what he had to do, though more recent memories made the idea repugnant to him. He knew there was no real escape from what had to be done. And—the king felt as though perhaps this was what Ardyn needed him to remember; to realize precisely. 

He slept like the dead as always—so much so that he feared the soft dulcet tones he’d heard were just the desires of his aching heart. What he found when he awoke proved otherwise, and he woke with a start—and made to vanish from the sight of those who seemed so happy to have found him again. 

Meanwhile, Gladiolus walked the dark outskirts of civilization. It was a routine patrol, one that he’d done a hundred times before. He had plenty weighing on his mind. Gladio wanted Noctis to face the truth. He’d known he was stronger than this. Death couldn’t be easy to think about—but the obliteration of the world was at stake. He too, had faced death for Noctis more times than he could count but he was slow to admit how different it was to face it in certainty. 

For days, he’d been tracking someone who had been moving around outside of Lestallum. It could’ve been anyone but—he just had a feeling, and the curiosity kept him moving further and further out, among ruins that were nearly unnoticeable to the untrained eye. 

Shifting presence followed thought itself as sneaky, but a Shield far too large a man and cumbersome in step to be considered one with the shadows. “Ah, _Gladio_ is it?” Graceful pivot facing adversary with blade stayed. Tongue snapped against its oral cage in resounding click. “I can only imagine your pitiable attempt at trailing me is for an audience you desired since last we met.”

The shield couldn’t understand what would drive him to side with Ardyn, even if he was beginning to see Noctis’ point. What the gods had done was nothing short of awful, but what did that mean for them? Even if they were serving devils rather than gods, it did not change their power over them; over the course of fate… did it? He was wavering there, on that precipice in search of what to believe when the Devil in question appeared as if on cue. 

He blinked slowly when addressed, stance defensive though he made no move to pull his sword from the aether just yet. 

“Huh. So it _was_ you. Thought as much. You’re sure watchin’ him close. I can’t say I like the idea—but Noct keeps singin’ your praises. More than anything I’d like to know why that is. What the hell is going on between you two, really? He… explained what you’ve been up to.” But he let that hang in the air, no hint as to how it had gone over. 

Gladio watched Ardyn with suspicion, but it was clear that he was tired—they all were. Tired of fighting, and hoping that Noctis really might have the answers they were seeking. 

Singing his praises? Oh Noct, had you fallen as deeply as he? Perhaps further still? That beautiful thought seeming so long ago played as brilliantly in his mind as the day they ventured forth from a darkened capital, Insomnia. To see the Chosen fall into the embrace of darkness itself, though unaware his wish would be granted not in the original intent. 

A Shield was required not to fill those cracks in the divide left unspoken. “Why would I cease to keep such a close watch upon something in my vested interest?” The Chosen King a requirement for the completion of this darkened path of which no liberation could be found. One divine soul haunted the halls of the world, and yet its breakage had not yet occurred. No more cracks fractured the state of the world more than what already existed between realms. An observation pointed to one clear conclusion: 

_**The gods were not necessary to sustain the world.**_

Conniving and impish smile adorned his facial visage tempting a Shield to further inquiry. Ah but— would it not serve to make a good impression? The devil did not cavort among the mortals to endear himself as friend. None say but one had enough sway in his opinion to garner anything but calculated malice and indifference. Lacking in his presence there was naught forestalling him to more devious machinations. 

“Did he now? The deaths of the Divine? The Hexatheon slaughtered for their avarice?” Amber eyes fixated upon this once adversary now caught in near amicable conversation. But what this but another mind game to add spice to this discussion? “I surmise you do not wish to speak of our _delightful_ road trip. We are little more than—“ Near inaudible sound of tongue flicked quickly to produce a click behind those pallid lips. “—mutual allies in a righteous endeavor. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

Gladiolus crossed his arms over his chest as Ardyn spoke. He… strangely seemed content to not treat him as an enemy – at least not an active threat any longer. Whatever Noctis had been spouting must’ve taken some hold; though he was sizing the man up. The shield showed no fear when he met the former Chancellor’s gaze, though he was guarded. 

“Yeah, sure if that’s what you wanna call it. I dunno, for a while I thought you had some… spell on him or somethin’, I’m not gonna lie.” He shook his head and sighed. “I’m. Not going to try to understand that part. He can do what he wants, even if I don’t get it. What I wanna be sure about is that you’re bein’ sincere with him.” He scoffed and looked away. “Not like I can expect you to be honest. But I’m gonna ask it of you, and offer you my trust this once.” 

At that he looked back to Ardyn in the piercing way that he had; the reminder that he was not all muscle, but also a skilled strategist beneath it all. “He’s giving this harebrained scheme of yours his all. And as much as he’s a lazy little shit, he won’t back out on you so. Y'know… I gotta look out for him. Don’t screw with his head, Ardyn.” 

And he meant it; this much more mellow iteration of Gladiolus was something that had taken a decade to emerge. He had had to learn to temper his temper in ways that he had not been prepared for years earlier. He had to admit that Noctis was somewhere beyond what he could understand now, in the same realm of eccentric chancellors with mysteriously missing hats. 

Noctis had come to be his lover under no spell or fairy dust. Wayward monarch heralded as crystalline champion fell under the seductions of a vicious charmer. More deeply, his essence sought the companionship of another such jaded soul. Wretched beasts born mortal and pitted as tools for divine weaponry. A counterbalance to the filth and rot the gods had wrought.

“My scheme?” Cranium tilted aside with lips painted in Cheshire grin. How the flock pranced in the fields coated in an air of naivety. “Did he forget to mention the crucial detail: This was his idea.” Lovely king knocked upon the devil’s door seeking parlay. An idea born from the bed of sin given form in this broken messiah’s keen mind.

But what good, old romance is not complete without the worrisome friend? Adamant as a bear and fierce as a coeurl, Gladiolus dared to instill pause in this despised daemon. What seduction already seeded and blossomed in a caring heart. A further induction through manipulation hardly warranted with a Chosen King coiled deliciously around a well-manicured finger.

Ah but if our broken savior of old were to permit the truth to shine through a deeper denial? He, too, was bewitched beneath a spell most rotted and putrid: love. The Chosen’s stranglehold upon his demented soul. If only that hapless prince chose to exercise this authority.

“Oh but my dear, I bear no desire to cause him further harm. What use does a broken toy serve?” Malicious amber eyes veiled the man behind the actor’s mask and a softer contagion woven into his heart. “I am a fair man, Amicitia, so long as our end means align; His Majesty has precious little to fear.” 

A master puppeteer entranced by enticing eyes and a monarch spurned to spite. The heretics on a crusade of revenge. “Now, I have an appointment to keep.” Outlines shattered into pyreflies of magenta light vanishing into the still endless night flitted to a destination close to his intended target’s aimless wanderings. 

Gladio had no choice but to watch him go, dissolving into light that he swore the bastard wasn’t supposed to even contain anymore. The king’s shield stood in the expanse of darkness, the light of the last bastion of humanity on the horizon not far– though it felt like it was forever. He had spent years wondering; thinking over meanings and desires. Over what it meant to be a leader and a hero. He’d come to peace with many things, and unearthed just as many new traumas to keep a drink in his hand and his eyes cracked open at night.

But this? This was something he’d never imagined and had no idea how to deal with. He finally turned on his heel and made his way back into town at a brisk pace– back the way he’d come. He needed to talk to the boys.

The air was stifling outside, away from the buzz of generators desperately chugging away to keep the overheated population at least safe if not comfortable. Lestallum was a different experience this time around. There were moments when Noctis felt alone no matter how many times he begged Prompto to traipse around with him and go over the old days. There was a hunger; a hole inside of him that craved and demanded and left him struggling to sleep. Noctis; who had found sleep easier than almost anything else through most of his life.

He had shaved; had someone approach with some of his old clothes that had been stored away somewhere. Wondered if he looked properly like a king now, as it had been expected of him. His father’s sense of style was not his own and yet… here he was.

In his hands rested the hat that had been left upon his chest in his sleep. He didn’t know what he was looking for out here, but he did know that the whispers of the ring got louder and more agitated as he plumbed the darkness.

He had all but come to the conclusion that they must fight. What Ardyn had done had come swimming back to the forefront of his mind away from the intoxication of each other’s company. He at least was owed vengeance. It was a terrible conflict; the urge to attack a man that he had fallen in love with. Despite the evil he had done; continued to wrought. Noctis couldn’t hate him, and he had already given his word; something he wouldn’t allow anyone to talk him out of. Ardyn deserved absolution, even if he decided that death was more appealing than a few more years of existing at Noctis’ request.

He stood in the quiet, eyes fixed on the veil of darkness though the city’s sounds were still audible if one listened closely– there was light, if only by the sheer tenacity of humanity’s hope.

“Where are you?” Why did you leave me for so long?

The patter of rain droplet struck upon the muddy ground, lessening storm in this uncertain night. Silent was the reemergence from those cracks into a mortal plane. The clamoring of senses to locate his intended prey. So long absent of his side pulled into his fold once more.

That insolent ring and it’s damnable yet exhilarating power was a pinprick of light giving away the coordinates of his Chosen so lost and hapless without a hand to guide him. What had his time away taught this champion of the gods? Those moments spent in accompaniment of loving friends. Though the truth has it’s way of coming forth piercing through veils and shadows. How they knew of the price demanded by the Astrals. The veritable prince of lambs placed forward towards the butcher’s blade.

A verdict rendered and calculated in solitude ready to be delivered to those eager ears. Cherished fedora clutched so adamantly as a trinket remaining of a lost lover. Tension corded along the trail of his spine. It would be but a trifle excursion to render a knife into the unsuspecting. Alas, a waste of precious time.

Distance evaporated between in lackadaisical strides, resounding impact of lavish boots upon sodden soil. “What a pleasant coincidence finding you here—“ Nimble fingers sprung forth capturing the brim of his hat returning it to its coveted position upon his crown in theatrical display. Impish smirk adorned his facial features. Were they to play this game of plucking the strings of each other’s vices now once more?

An index finger extended, it’s surface anchored underneath a rigid jawline free of beard and stubble. “Missed my company, did you?” Noctis need not provide an answer for it was writ upon his face, his demeanor.

“Ah—!” Noctis’ lips beckoned to silence with a tapping of an eloquent finger over those pouting lips. “So ill-mannered, Your Majesty? I was not yet done speaking.” All touch retreated. Ardyn strode forward hands coiled loosely and feet carrying him in backwards motion so he could provide eye contact still. “In the throes of our passion you gave of me an inquiry of sorts.My answer is: Eighty-four. Years of course.”

A singular lifetime with a blood price yet unpaid. A lineage allowed continuance for one life more. With the fall of Bahamut, the spite against those wretched creatures would provide a stubborn existence. A blatant disregard of the Draconian’s wishes. And they? The only gods left standing with a choice to end this _as they saw fit, when they saw fit_.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will be uploaded as I edit them into digestible chunks at my leisure.


End file.
